


Corners of His Heart

by angelatflightrisk



Category: Monster Prom (Visual Novel)
Genre: M/M, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Obliviousness, Public Sex, Secret Relationship, breakup ! real rough breakup, fuck buddies, just. so much porn, messy messy, okay theres actual plot now i need more tags, oz has a pussy usually, sex crazy boys, shapeshifter oz, uh, with some angst, without the relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-10-02 18:56:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 27,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17269235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelatflightrisk/pseuds/angelatflightrisk
Summary: Damien has never been the clingy, emotional, lay-his-heart-on-the-line type, so he hasn’t said anything, not in all these months. Neither has Oz. So he's learned to take all these fluffy, disgusting feelings and cram them in a jar, and tuck it all behind his heart. And sometimes he lets them come out, times like this, just for a moment, because Oz never seems to take them seriously when he's being fucked. Damien almost wishes he would.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i might continue this maybe !

The halls are full, overflowing, voices of all depths and heights and hues reverberating through the all too narrow passageway. A hulking beast crashes into Oz’s shoulder hard as he passes and the little thing nearly pirouettes with the force of it. As it is he stumbles only slightly and throws a hard glance just barely over his shoulder. He’s used to being the littlest, slightest monster in these crowded and ghastly halls, but that doesn’t mean he likes it. He is about to refocus on the space ahead of him, as one does when they walk, but before he can his wrist is caught and he is spun out of the hall, a firm grip there on the small of his back. He is suddenly released again, taking a few hazy steps with the pure inertia of it all, and then he stills. His glowing white gaze flickers around his surroundings-- outside, under the tree, in the stark cold of the nighttime, under the glistening stars, empty and quiet. And then he turns to face his captor.

“Hey, cutie.”

Oz scrunches up his nose.

“ _Oh, hell, Casanova. Aren’t there less dramatic ways of getting me alone?_ ”

Damien grins at that, all of his sharp teeth showing. A flicker of a flame catches in his wild hair, and Oz stares at it. Damien has grown a little fond of Oz’s smart mouth over these months. He likes the boldness almost as much as he likes it when Oz is too flustered to remember his own name.

“Hey, come on,” The prince coos, tilting his head in a small and utterly attractive motion, “Don’t be like that. I saw a little damsel in distress and I came to the rescue, is all.”

“ _Distress?_ ” Oz echoes.

“Getting thrown around like a little ragdoll. Little thing like you, that must happen a lot.”

“ _Mm, I dunno_ ,” Oz lets his gaze fall up on the pretty night sky, “ _Really only happens when you somehow get me alone. Speaking of which--_ ”

Oz can’t finish the rest of his witty response, because in another instant Damien has taken him by his waist and spun him, pressing him up against the wall so that his feet are off the ground, kissing the life out of his neck, his strong hands digging into his tiny waist. Really, he’s only proving Oz’s point, but in the months that the pair has been up to this, Oz has never given a single fuck about that. The fear demon whines a little when Damien bites down on his collarbone, and he feels the prince grin around licking up the inky shadows.

“You taste like pomegranates.”

“ _Are you afraid of pomegranates?_ ” Oz manages to ask, his hold around Damien’s neck tightening. Damien stops briefly, apparently genuinely considering that.

“I’m afraid of my dad sometimes,” He says, thoughtfully. Oz turns that over in his head. Damien’s father-- one of them, anyway-- is Hades, Lord of Hell. Oz takes that little fact, connects the dots and puts it all together, and then tucks all of it behind a corner of his heart. It makes Damien seem realer somehow, knowing that little bit of information. It makes Oz want to see more of those little real pieces.

Damien snaps out of his pensive state pretty quickly, biting under Oz’s jaw and making the boy cry out in surprise.

“Mm, baby,” Damien purrs into his skin, and he shivers outright, his back arching into the prince, one hand bracing himself on the wall behind him. Damien pulls back and kisses where his mouth would be, “Let’s take this back to your place.”

“ _Mm…_ ” Oz hums, thoughtfully. Damien looks immaculate all washed in the moonlight, and it makes Oz feel weak, “ _Dunno. I had plans._ ”

“Bullshit.”

“ _No, really. I was gonna go home and do something boring, like homework, and then I was gonna go to sleep at a reasonable hour, and--_ ”

He is supremely fucking with Damien, and Damien knows it. As it is, the prince pulls him closer by the small of his back and snaps his fingers, and they are both swallowed up in flames that don’t hurt either of them. Oz feels his sharp nails against his spine, and he revels in the knowledge that he’s riled him up. Maybe if he keeps doing that, Damien will really fuck him up. That’s the plan, anyway.

“Mm, fuck. You’re such a brat,” Damien growls the instant Oz’s feet hit his own bedroom floor. Damien pulls back, his eyes burning down at the monster, “You do that on purpose.”

“ _Damn, what gave me away?_ ”

“You think if you’re a little bitch and make me mad I’ll fuck you up like you like it?”

He steps closer, and despite himself Oz is intimidated, but he likes it like that, and when he shivers it is out of anticipation, delight, “ _That’s the idea, yes._ ”

Damien reaches out and tears the buttons off of his sweater, which has happened so many goddamn times that Oz has honestly lost count. He gasps anyway, and when Damien pushes him down onto his knees he is a little dazed.

The warmth in front of his face surprises him, although it shouldn’t, and Damien’s hand cards through his shadowy hair and pulls, and Oz is forced to look up at him.

“You’re such a brat,” Damien growls.

“ _That’s--_ ” Fuck, this already feels so good, “ _You mentioned._ ”

“It’s hard to mouth off with a mouth full of cock,” Damien’s voice is smooth and husky and delicious, and Oz decides not to mention that the voice Damien hears doesn’t actually come from Oz’s mouth. It seems beside the point. Instead he simply lets his gaze flicker to the absurdly big cock in front of his face.

“Need your mouth, pretty thing,” Damien says, and watches as the fear demon complies, his face splitting in a horrifyingly sexy way, the skin separating like ooze from ear to ear with a cracking sound, the teeth sparkling and starkly white, and sharp, his tongue slithering out and trailing along the underside of the prince’s cock. He groans, his grip on Oz’s hair tightening as the pretty little horror braces his hands on Damien’s hipbones, the teeth disappearing into his gums as he engulfs Damien’s dick into his beautiful mouth.

“Fuck yes, babe,” The prince hisses, his hips rocking into the monster’s face. The boy complies easily with the movements, his head tilting back to allow the large cock to slip in and out of his tight throat, “That’s such a good look on you. You like it when I fuck your face?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Oz’s voice is like music echoing through Damien’s head.

“This is exactly how I like you,” Damien informs him, “So fucking cute. If you want me to fuck you until your skinny little hips break, ask nicely.”

“ _Pretty please?_ ” Oz’s voice is sweet, clearly doing whatever it may take to get exactly that, his white eyes blissed out and big when he looks up at Damien like he’s asking for candy. Damien nearly comes right then, but resists, his grip on his hair tightening.

“Suck me real good and I’ll consider it.”

Oz does just that. He is exceptionally good at this, at all of it, at the sex and the flirting and the companionship, all of it. It blew Damien’s mind when they first started, how quickly and how hard he fell for the twinky nerdy thing. He thought when they started, when he first looked at this blushing dork and whispered, “let’s get out of here,” in his ear at that party, he thought for sure Oz would be clingy, wanting to go on dates and get promise rings or whatever the hell high schoolers did when they were being mushy and lame. But he surprised Damien in every way, at how spectacular he was in bed, at how easy and good and interesting he was to talk to afterwards, at how badly Damien wanted to be near him after that. And it ended up being Damien, maybe the third or fourth time, when Oz was tucked into his side, naked and bitten and marked and bruised and content and unfairly beautiful-- it ended up being Damien who asked, “What are we?” in this pitiful fucking voice.

Oz had been quiet for a moment before he said simply, “ _Friends with benefits, I guess. If you consider me a friend, anyway_.”

“I do,” Damien had said too quickly. Oz had hummed, nuzzling his face into Damien’s chest in an utterly adorable, irresistible way, and he made Damien so fucking crazy.

“ _Mm, partners in crime?_ ” Oz had suggested, and then laughed. He made Damien so fucking crazy. He still does. But Damien has never been the clingy, emotional, lay-his-heart-on-the-line type, so he hasn’t said anything, not in all these months. Neither has Oz. So he's learned to take all these fluffy, disgusting feelings and cram them in a jar, and tuck it all behind his heart. And sometimes he lets them come out, times like this, just for a moment, because Oz never seems to take them seriously when he's being fucked. Damien almost wishes he would.

“That’s enough,” Damien hisses, and Oz pulls back, his mouth seamlessly closing again as he looks up with adorably curious eyes. Damien pets his hair, lets the touch linger a while before saying, “M’close, and there are places I’d much rather come than your mouth. Strip.”

Oz’s eyes brighten as he stands, all excitement. His sweater comes off, and Damien sits to patiently watch him carefully unbutton every button on his white shirt. Then that comes off, revealing his dark shadowy skin, the adorable curve of his tiny waist, the way his bones poke out in a pretty way, as his nimble hands remove his pants and pull them away.

Oz could be naked with a snap of his fingers, but he drags this out on purpose. He knows Damien likes to watch. 

And then the shadow monster stands naked and stunning in front of Damien, so thin and small, the curve of his waist into his hips into his legs, the dip of his flat tummy into the little mound of his pussy.

Oh, fuck.

“Come here right now,” he demands, his head swimming, and Oz is so cute as he obeys. Damien takes him by his small waist and throws him down onto the bed. He bounces with the force of it all, a little gasp echoing through Damien’s head, and before he recovers from the surprise Damien is on his knees before the bed, his face between his little legs, his mouth absolutely worshipping the boy’s pussy.

Oz gasps in Damien’s head, and then outright cries out, all of it playing like a melody inside the prince’s skull.

“ _Oh, fuck-- Oh, Damien, Damien,_ Damien _\--_ ”

Damien lets it all wash over him as he pours his immortal soul into eating this boy’s perfect pussy. Damien is good, really good, at a few things, and sex is one of them. He’s sure Oz has gotten to know that fact perfectly well through their time together, and he is getting another lesson in it now. The boy’s pussy still tastes like pomegranates, just like his mouth, just like his blood. He always has. Damien should potentially feel a little different about it now that he knows the nuance of it, but oddly enough he doesn’t. Oz is fear incarnate, and that fact in itself is so unfathomably sexy. Something about the fact that the way Oz’s pussy tastes is indicative of his great fears is just too fucking metal to handle.

“ _Damien, Damien--_ ” Oz’s pretty back arches off of the bed, and his pussy grinds up into his face, “ _Fuck, please, need you--_ ”

“I’m right here, baby,” Damien purrs, and he’s supremely fucking with him, because he knows what he means. He presses a kiss to the boy’s tummy and Oz whines, flushed and squirming and so, so wet.

“ _I need you inside me,_ ” Oz clarifies, his voice so breathy and fucked up already. Damien hates to tease him, aside from the fact that he doesn’t hate it at all.

Two fingers press up inside his slick entrance and he cries out, squirming. He is so tight, and yet he always considers fingering teasing. Damien knows that about him. He presses a kiss to his clit as his fingers curl into his sweet spot, making him cry out in frustration.

“ _Damien, please,_ ” He gasps.

“What is it, doll?”

“ _I need your cock,"_ He gasps, _"Please._ ”

“Mm, say pretty pretty please.”

“ _Pretty pretty please,_ ” Oz echoes, obedient, all the brattiness gone and replaced with submission and lust. Damien finally softens, coming up off the ground and bracing himself on either side of Oz’s little body. The monster squirms briefly when the blunt head presses up against his entrance, anticipating, his face and his shoulders flushed, his white eyes sparkling, staring up at Damien. Hell, Damien isn’t altogether sure he won’t come just from looking into those eyes.

“ _Damien_ ,” He whines, and Damien remembers his task, rocking his hips forward and hissing at the cool, soft tightness. He feels the inky shadow ooze aorund his cock as he presses forward, and Oz throws his head back, crying out in Damien’s head.

“Does it hurt?” Damien asks, like he does every time.

“ _Yes_ ,” Oz answers, like he does every time, “ _I love it_.”

Damien pushes in further, and Oz is canting his own little hips forward into it, trying to take the massive cock. It really is an obscene sight, the shocking difference in size between Damien’s cock and the little monster trying to take it. And yet Oz has never failed to take it. It slips further, deeper, until it presses right up against his little cervix, and he is shivering under him, all flushed.

“ _D-Damien_ ,” He whines, “ _You’re so fucking big_.”

“I know, baby,” He purrs, kissing the junction of his neck and his shoulder as he pulls his hips flush up against him, throwing his little legs over his shoulders, “Do you love it?”

“ _Hell yes_.”

Damien starts to fuck him slow, just to watch him whine and squirm. He wants to get fucked hard and fast, Damien knows, but it’s unbearably cute to watch this first, to watch him get flustered and hot and desperate. It makes the best part so much better.

“ _Damien_ ,” Oz hisses in his head, “ _I’m going to fucking kill you_.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Princess,” Damien growls back, biting into his shoulder and making him squeal, “You’re so fucking cute like this. Beg me to fuck you hard.”

“ _Fuck me hard,_ ” Oz’s voice is quiet echoing through his head, his heels pressing against the small of Damien’s back.

“Aw, Ozzie, you’re going to have to do better than that. Beg me. Where’s that cute little voice?”

“ _Damien,_ ” His voice is breaking with the embarrassment, and it is downright adorable, and he’s really getting desperate, his back arching, “ _Please, please, please fuck me really really really hard. I need you._ ”

Damien decides that’s enough teasing him. He kisses his collarbone, soft and gentle, and that is the last gentle thing he does.

 

 

Oz is still naked as he stands in the mirror counting his bites and bruises. He tries, anyway, and loses track, and gives up, and turns around, tilting his head when he realizes Damien is watching him from the bed, his hands clasped in a cocky way behind his head.

“ _What?_ ” Oz asks. The demon prince grins.

“Just looking at your cute ass.”

His eyes flicker down Oz’s still naked form and his breath visibly hitches, and he says, “And your cute cunt.”

Oz leans back against the dresser as the ooze between his legs stitches back together, and disappears seamlessly, without a trace, leaving just a smooth mound in its place. Damien breathes, “No fair.”

Oz simply shrugs, and then he crosses the room to crawl back into bed with the demon prince, curled up by his side. His heart jumps in his chest a little when Damien’s arm winds around him and pulls him closer, but he pushes those fuzzy thoughts back down. Oz is absurdly comfortable and desperately sleepy. Damien presses a kiss to his head, and he drifts off.


	2. chapter two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Damien, are you following me again?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey oops i guess im very invested in this

Damien spends enough time on the mortal plane to know a thing or two about humans. He can tell them apart, he can guess their ages, he can cherish their screams as he draws their blood or causes some natural disaster to cripple their societies. Not that he gets credit. He is essentially a ghost as the passerby walk right through him as if he isn’t there. He isn’t paying attention to them, only one of them.

He is about fourteen, maybe fifteen. He is petite, skinny and small, with wildly curly red hair and pretty pale skin and big green eyes framed by dark lashes. He looks anxious, Damien can see that even from this distance, across the street, and he keeps looking over his shoulder. He is in a school uniform, gripping the strap of his backpack tight. When he turns back around he is pulled roughly into an alley, and Damien disappears from his spot and reappears on the roof above them all in an instant, out of sight with a clear view.

A rough voice speaks bellow, “Hey, ballerina boy.”

The redheaded boy cries out as he is slammed into the brick wall. Three older, taller, hulking human boys stand above him, and one of them holds him to the wall by his throat.

Damien can barely make out the redhead’s shrill, panicked voice from his distance, “Jason, let me go!”

“What’s wrong, homo? I thought you liked it rough.”

There is a special place in Hell for douchebags like that. Rage swells in Damien’s chest and he pushes it back down, letting a little fire burn at his fingertips. The boy is kicking, clawing at Jason’s swollen forearm.

“Look at him, guys, I think he’s gonna cry.”

“I’m not crying,” The redhead snaps as he stills, his eyes locking onto the jock’s, a change coming swiftly and jarringly, “Let me go right now or you’ll regret it.”

None of them falter, laughing bright and bold in the boy’s face.

“Oh, I’m really scared now. What are you gonna do, dance us to death?”

His knee comes up hard into the redhead’s stomach, and all at once the scene changes. The alley is flooded with shadows, and the redhead stays crumpled on the cold concrete ground, and shadows bubble out of his mouth and gather on the ground, and then a monstrous horror stands before the quivering jocks, his face split open and showing his teeth, his blinding white eyes the only light in the darkness.

“ _Do you like making people afraid, Jason?_ ”

His voice is a terrible sound in that moment. The boys cover their ears, trying to shout over it. It won’t work. The monster steps forward and pulls Jason up by his hair from where he’d fallen on his knees. The shadowy thing is small, slight, and yet he is the biggest thing in the alley, and the humans cower before him like some old god. His jaw unhinges, his tongue snaking out.

“Fuck!” One of the boys yells.

“ _I do too,_ ” The monster says, tilting his head, “ _I like making people afraid. Are you ready to taste true fear? Because I certainly am._ ”

Jason has another moment of pure terror before his chest splits open and the alley and the monster and the little redhead are all splattered in crimson. The screams are musical, horrible in the most delicious way, but Damien knows he isn’t enjoying it nearly as much as the demon below. The other two boys scream in harmony as they are torn apart, limbs and eyes and muscles and organs scattered around the alley. He’s such a messy eater. All he cares about are the hearts, Damien has seen this enough times to know. The shadows seem to dance on the walls around him, whispering. Two of the hearts, still beating, are sealed by the shadows into little glass jars and promptly disappear. Oz tilts his head back, opens his mouth astonishingly wide, and swallows the third whole.

The shadows all disappear, and so does Oz. The redheaded boy is left screaming, splattered in blood, scrambling back from the horrific scene in front of him. The fear burns brightly in his eyes, and it pisses Damien off to no end. This is always the reaction. Not one human has an ounce of fucking gratitude.

But Oz doesn’t care about gratitude. Oz cares about fear.

“ _Damien_ ,” His voice is more musical than usual, more intense, more mind-numbing. Damien turns around to face him, shivering at the sight of him covered in blood, his eyes bright and his teeth gleaming.

“ _Damien, are you following me again?_ ”

Damien swallows, then grins, “Hell yeah I am. That is so unbelievably sexy.” Damien does this very often. The hard part is finding Oz, because the little monster likes picking city humans, and finding his friend is like finding a needle in a haystack. Damien has followed humans for hours, absolutely certain they are Oz, only to be wrong.

But Oz giggles, outright giggles, like a fucking schoolgirl, coming closer, pressing his chest flush up against Damien, standing on his tiptoes and beaming.

“ _That was delicious. Wasn’t that delicious?_ ”

“It was fun to watch,” Damien laughs, and he is a little dizzy, “Enjoy yourself?”

“ _I’d enjoy myself more if some tall handsome nightmare took me home and fucked me like he owned me right the hell now,_ ” Oz whines, and Damien knows he means it. He has yet to determine which part of all this he likes better-- watching Oz feed, or fucking him in this intensely giddy state. Oz stands on his toes, pushing forward.

“ _Come on, don’t make me wait. I need you. We have all night and I need you._ ”

Damien doesn’t make him wait. He pulls him close by his waist and they disappear into flames.

 

Damien fucks him a thousand ways that night. Oz is screaming in delight all through it, his beautiful and terrifying mouth not closing once, those razor sharp teeth everpresent. Damien fucks him up down and sideways, shoves his cock down his pretty throat and fucks his face against a wall, grabs at his little hips and fucks him hard and fast bent over his bed, lets him devour his cock while he sits on Damien’s face. All of that and so much more, and when they finally finish for the millionth and final time Damien is burning up, his breath steamy and visible in the air, dazed and drained and unfathomably oversatisfied. Oz makes the prettiest little sound above him, sitting on his hips with his back arched and Damien’s hands holding his little waist. And then the shadow demon pulls off, and an obscene amount of cum oozes from his little pussy. Damien is absolutely entranced by it, and Oz is covered in bites and hickeys and bruises and his mouth finally stitches closed and disappears. He leans down and presses a kiss between Damien’s eyebrows.

“ _You’re the best,_ ” He says, sweetly, and Damien feels his heart swell in his chest. His fingers twitch where they are holding Oz’s waist.

“What time is it?”

“ _I dunno. But it’s morning now. So… good job._ ”

Damien huffs a small laugh, and Oz finally moves off of him, the first time they haven’t been pressed together and burning up in hours and hours. 

“ _I’m gonna take a shower,_ ” Oz says idly, “ _Do you want to come?_ ”

“Mm,” Damien manages to hum, feeling the mess of his own come and Oz’s shadowy ooze painting his body. He is too tired to care, too tired to even keep his eyes open and answer Oz’s question.

When he opens his eyes again the afternoon light streams in from the window and Oz is in front of his face, his hair a little damp, like he’d taken a shower a few hours ago, and he is wearing one of Damien’s t-shirts, and it is hanging off of his little shoulder so that Damien can see every mark on his pretty skin.

Hell almighty.

“ _Hey, there he is,_ ” The way Oz’s pretty eyes crinkle tells Damien that he is smiling as he tilts his head, “ _Listen, y_ _ou’re really really cute all naked and passed out in my bed and everything, but you and this entire room smell like a week’s worth of sex and I really need to clean up._ ”

Damien is used to this part. He rolls his eyes, sitting up and groaning with the fatigue, “Do you want me gone?”

“ _Nono, stay. Just take a shower and come right back. It won’t take long_.”

Oz starts cleaning as he says that, shadows moving about the room and righting the wrecked bedroom, rectifying every surface they fucked on until it broke. Damien stands, starts toward the bathroom, trying not to feel too fuzzy. Oz often wants him gone immediately-- the boy is something of an introvert, and he likes his time alone. It took a long time for Damien to understand, but at this point he’s just so flattered when Oz invites him to stay a little longer.

He takes a shower, washes off the sweat and the sex, and then he dresses and steps back into the room. It is remarkably clean, and neat, and it smells sweet, like lavender.

Oz looks up at him from where he lay on the bed and his eyes smile, and he reaches out in a cute way, “ _C’mere_.”

Damien crosses over to the bed and lays down beside him, and the little fear demon wastes no time tucking himself into Damien’s side contentedly.

“ _That was incredible,_ ” He says. Damien presses a kiss to the top of his head.

“Yeah, it was.”

Oz’s nimble fingers trail up Damien’s chest, and trace along the right side, where his heart is. Damien watches, quiet for a few lingering moments, watching the odd expression on Oz’s face before he shifts, “What are you doing?”

“ _Listening_.”

“To?”

“ _Your heart_ ,” Oz says, and then thinks, and then clarifies, “ _Your fear_.”

A chill shoots up Damien’s spine at that revelation, and Oz’s pretty eyes flutter closed, apparently reacting to the anxious spike, “ _That’s beautiful._ ”

“Ozzie--”

“ _Relax. I don’t know what you’re afraid of. And I’m obviously not going to eat your heart, although I’m sure you’d be delicious._ ”

Damien turns that over in his head, and eventually he softens, pulling Oz a little closer by his waist, “Um, what do you mean you don’t know?”

“ _Oh, I could know. If I listened to that part, if I decided to_.”

“How can you be listening to my fear and not know what I’m afraid of?”

Oz looks up, apparently considering that question. After a few quiet moments his eyes meet Damien’s, “ _You know when you’re listening to music and you’re paying attention, but only halfway? You can hear it, and you know that it sounds pretty, and it makes you feel nice, but you aren’t listening to the words? You don’t actually know what it’s about, but you like the melody_.”

Damien is still reeling from the pure poetry of that explanation, the way it felt so intimate, so romantic, when Oz presses his face right up to his chest and whispers, “ _Your melody is beautiful_.”

After a few moments like that, he looks back up, “ _I won’t listen if you don’t want me to. It’s very tempting, but I won’t_.”

“Thanks, Ozzie.”

Oz comes up and kisses him, softer than usual, sweet. Damien knows it’s because he’s coming off the high from feeding, but he deludes himself for a moment. He cards his fingers through the boys hair and lets himself drown, for just a moment.

Oz pulls back again, and he is so breathtakingly beautiful all washed in the soft light of the afternoon, his white eyes glowing lightly.

" _Would you be very opposed to letting me ride you? Just one more time_."

"Baby, I would never be very opposed to that."

Oz leans back and takes off his shorts, and Damien watches, his heart beating like rabbit's feet in his chest, trying so damn hard to keep that jar of feelings tucked away. He knows it'll break someday soon and he'll be fucked, but for now when Oz slides into his lap he lets his hands find his small waist and hold him there, and he lets his mouth find his neck and suck another mark.


	3. chapter three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oml im writing this so fast

The sunlight comes in through the window in a very pretty way, washing the little coffee shop in morningglow. Monsters of all kinds sit at the tables in their sleepy morning hazes, and for once they are quiet, all talking in soft voices. Damien would lose his mind in a place like this, and the thought makes Oz smile as he brings his cup of coffee to his face. Oz, as always, isn’t actually drinking the caramel latte, not until later anyway. There’s something embarrassing about opening his mouth in public. He just likes the warmth of it pressed against the palms of his hands. It reminds him of someone.

The girl in front of him looks less chipper than she usually does, but just as cute. She is wearing a sweater that falls off of her, her bra visible where it peeks out on her shoulder, her curly hair pulled up in a messy ponytail, stray curls falling in her face.

“I don’t know,” Vicky continues, her voice singing of resignation, defeat, and it kinda breaks Oz’s heart. She puts her chin in her hands, elbows on the table, “He’s so cute, and he’s so sweet, and I want to ask him to go with me but I--”

“ _Nono, I understand. It sounds like a particularly frustrating situation._ ”

“It is particularly frustrating!” She sighs, “I don’t know if he’s really so innocent that if I asked he still wouldn’t understand. Like, if I’d ask him and he’d assume we were going as best buddies or whatever.”

“ _Maybe be a little more forward?_ ”

“I don’t want to scare him off!”

Vicky sighs, falling against the table with her head down.

“Oh, but he’s so worth it. He’s the cutest thing, Oz.”

“ _I hope it works out,_ ” Oz says kindly, with a smile, and she looks back up to smile back.

“How’s your boy?” She asks in a hushed tone, and Oz feels his shoulders tense a little. He’s not used to Damien being something other people know about. He’s something of a secret. Vicky knows because Oz trusts her wholeheartedly, certainly with this, and Damien eventually decided he trusted Oz’s judgement. When they started, maybe the third or fourth time when they realized this would be a recurring thing, they both promised they’d keep it to themselves. It was easier that way.

But it's nice to talk to Vicky about this, and honestly over these months she’s been his saving grace. There are things he can’t talk to Damien about. There are things he needs a friend outside of the situation for. And it’s been about a week since he’s seen Damien, and yet he thinks about him so much.

“ _He’s…_ ” Oz sighs, looking askance, “ _...He’s dreamy._ ”

“Oh, I’m going to throw up,” Vicky giggles, and it’s Oz’s turn to put his chin in his hand.

“ _I know it’s probably never going to happen,_ ” Oz says, making very sure that Vicky is the only person he is projecting to. If anyone else were to walk up, she would be the only one hearing him, “ _I mean, I don’t think Damien is really in this for the fuzzy feelies._ ”

“Naturally.”

“ _But he’s… I mean, he’s so intense, and I love that about him, it’s what attracted me to him in the first place, all the fire and the cockiness. It’s what I thought I liked the most about sleeping with him_.”

“You thought?”

“ _He gets so sweet, Vicky,_ ” Oz can feel himself flushing, on his face, his shoulders, “ _And the more I learn about him the more I want to know. And he calls me baby and I melt. And everytime I’m done feeding and I’m just a creature of my own desire, when I hyperfocus on one thing and need it--_ ”

“It’s him?”

“ _It’s always him,_ ” Oz presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, liking the light pressure, “ _I mean, I’m a teenager, so it’s been sexual in the past, but then it was just wanting to get fucked, and now it’s him specifically._ ”

“That doesn’t give him clues?”

“ _No, it doesn’t give him clues, because he’s fucking blind and he thinks this is just how I am when I feed. He thinks feeding makes me horny and he’s the one signed up to take care of that._ ”

Vicky nods thoughtfully, “Honestly, that’s what I would assume if I didn’t know better and I thought we were just really good fuck buddies.”

“ _I’m glad he assumes that,_ ” Oz continues, watching her sip her hot chocolate, “ _I am, because if he knew it was actually because I’m pathetically head over heels for him and his stupid sexy ass he’d run for the hills and I’d literally never see him again._ ”

“Two things with that,” Vicky says as she puts her hot chocolate down. Oh, boy, “First of all, that is one of quite a few ways he could react when finding out about your unreciprocated love. Granted, the rest aren’t great.”

“ _Wow, you’re so helpful._ ”

“Oz, are you sure he doesn’t feel the same way?”

Oz blinks, stunned into a small silence before he scrunches up his nose, “ _I’m pretty sure he doesn’t._ ”

“Pretty sure?”

“ _I mean-- It’s_ Damien _. I made an educated guess._ ”

“Oz, why would he be doing this with you eight months later if he didn’t like you? At least a little?”

“ _Because he likes sex?_ ” Oz suggests, “ _Because he finds me attractive? Because we’re really sexually compatible? Because he thinks I’m exciting?_ ”

“Okay, I need you to explain to me why all of those but the first one don’t add up to him liking you.”

“ _First of all, like is different than love. I know we’re friends, I know he cares about me as a friend, but I am absolutely helpless for the guy. That is a lot different. And finding me attractive just means I have a nice body, which doesn’t mean anything because I’m a shapeshifter._ ”

“Okay, well--”

“ _Being sexually compatible just puts us right where we are as fuck buddies, because it has no implication of romance at all._ ”

“Oz--”

“ _And finding me exciting is the exact same thing. He thinks it’s hot when I feed and get all sex-crazed because he doesn’t understand the implications, and he likes how I don’t make it easy for him all the time, and he likes it when I make it very easy for him, and he just thinks it’s fun._ ”

“I think you’re assuming a lot.”

“ _It’s been eight months,_ ” Oz tells her with certainty, “ _If he had feelings for me and he was going to confess them, he would have already._ ”

“Are you sure? I mean, you haven’t.”

“ _That’s different. If he were to tell me there would be no repercussions._ ”

“He doesn’t know how you feel. He could lose you.”

“ _Trust me,  Blue. I’m on my own here._ ”

Vicky looks like she wants to say something else, but she stops herself, and she looks away, pouting now. Oz can definitely relate. He’s gathering the courage to actually drink his coffee when a bluish figure appears very suddenly beside their table.

“Hey, Boo!” Polly squeals, and Vicky and Oz both jump, Oz managing to knee the table and knock both his and Vicky’s drinks over.

“Goddamnit!” Vicky shouts.

“ _I’m so fucking sorry,_ ” Oz tells her, hands floating above the table.

“I have LSD! And some other shit! Do you guys wanna come get fucked up?”

“Um,” Vicky looks at Oz, wide-eyed, “I’m-- I’ve got a--”

“ _Yeah, a uh. A thing. Both of us._ ”

“Aw, c’mon Oooozzie,” She draws out his name into a sort of purr as she comes closer and places herself sidestraddle in his lap, slowly, her face a little too close to his. Oz feels himself flush, his hands still hovering, now trying to make sure he doesn’t accidentally feel her up rather than avoiding coffee. She winds her arms around his neck.

“You look like you could use some hardcore fun. If you come with and you’re not a total bore I’ll let you lick my pussy.”

“ _That sounds super tempting,_ ” Oz wheezes, carefully scooting his chair back, finally lowering his hands on her waist and moving her away from him, standing up, “ _But I have something real important to do. Right now. Over there._ ”

Before Polly can get another word in Oz turns to shadows on the ground and speeds towards the exit. He gets there faster than anything, leaving Vicky alone with her, which is sort of a dick move, but he’s sure she’ll be fine. He reappears outside the door, looking over his shoulder, before he looks ahead of him again and his heart stops.

Damien Lavey is standing there, in a tight t-shirt that defines the shape of him so well, and Oz can almost count his abs. He looks almost as surprised as Oz is.

“ _Um_ ,” Oz says, dumbly, and Damien straightens, his hands in his pockets.

“I wasn’t watching you.”

Oz stares at him blankly, and eventually he breaks, “I was going to ask you if you wanted to, like, go out or something. But you were talking to Blue girl so I just stood out here waiting for you to finish and then--”

Oz stares a little longer, and then it clicks in his head and he flushes, “ _Oh my god_.”

“It’s whatever. Just Polly being crazy,” His voice is almost a growl, looking to the side, “I mean, I didn’t hear the conversation. I’m assuming.”

“ _Damien_.”

“What?”

“ _Are you being jealous?_ ”

Damien flushes bright, so bright, fire in his eyes, a flame dancing in his hair. Oz’s heart swells up in his chest, because his question was just answered, and it’s oddly flattering.

“Fuck off, Oz.”

“ _It literally was just Polly being crazy, but for the record I didn’t realize we were exclusive? I thought for sure you had others._ ”

“Why the hell would I have others? You keep me more than busy.”

Pride burns in Oz’s chest at that, and his shoulders straighten with a cute tilt of his head, “ _I was never really one for this kind of thing, so take comfort in knowing you’re my great exception_.”

Damien stares at him, and Oz lets him for a while.

“ _Um_ ,” He says, watching the demon come back into reality, “ _I have coffee all over my clothes. So, do you want to come back to my place to get me new clothes?_ ”

Damien’s eyes brighten, “Can you keep them off for a little bit?”

Oz laughs, and Damien pulls him close to swallow them both up into flames.


	4. chapter four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just started school and its my last semester of high school so im buuuusy

[Text from: **Damien** ] Oz

[Text from: **Damien** ] Ozzie

[Text from: **Damien** ] Holy hell I’m not making any more variations on your name pick up your damn phone

[Text from: **Oz** ] hey sorry i was drawing.

[Text from: **Oz** ] where’s the fire?

[Text from: **Damien** ] Do you wanna go out? I’m bored as fuck and I wanna do something, like, cute or whatever

[Text from: **Oz** ] sorry are my eyes broken

[Text from: **Damien** ] Forget I said anything

[Text from: **Oz** ] hey come on ! let me get dressed, when are you coming?

[Text from: **Damien** ] Uh

[Text from: **Oz** ] oh okay youre outside my window

[Text from: **Damien** ] I just really didn’t feel like setting fires or whatever we usually do. So, like, what do you usually do? You’re a lot tamer than me

[Text from: **Oz** ] wow, should i take that as an insult?

[Text from: **Damien** ] If you were absolutely anyone else, Hell yeah.

[Text from: **Damien** ] But no. I just feel like switching it up. Just this once. Like a not date.

[Text from: **Oz** ] sounds right, on account of the fact we are not dating

[Text from: **Damien** ] Yeah gross

[Text from: **Oz** ] hang on, i’ll be down in like two seconds.

 

A few moments later, the window above Damien’s head opens, on the second story of the wall he leans upon, and Oz hops out, landing on his feet, his hands hovering on either side of his body before he straightens up, looking up at his companion. Damien’s throat tightens.

Oz is wearing a tshirt that fits him well, dark jeans, and a brown leather coat that is way too big for him.

“Is that my jacket?”

“ _You left it here_ ,” Oz hums, absently, pulling the hood onto his head in the cutest fucking way, “ _Therefore it’s fair game for at least a week._ ”

“Isn’t this thing supposed to be a secret?”

“ _So what? I don’t wear it to school, relax_.”

“And when we go wherever we’re going tonight?”

“ _I got cold? We’re literally in the same place,_ ” Oz crinkles his nose in a motion reminiscent of someone sticking their tongue out, “ _Chill out_.”

Damien feels his face flush as Oz’s gaze shifts to his motorcycle, lingers, and then returns to Damien. Damien takes a breath, “Anyway, what do you want to do?”

“ _Something cute_?”

“Shut up. I need ideas. I don’t really do this.”

“ _Arcade_ ,” Oz says with finality, throwing what looks like a smile over his shoulder, “ _Let’s go to the arcade._ ”

 

Oz’s laughter is musical. It really is, and they really don’t do stuff like this. Ever. They’re together so often and yet so rarely do they go out. Not in public places, anyway. They’ve walked the streets of Hell before, quite a few times. They’ve spent nights laying next to each other in wide, open fields surrounded by dandelions and staring at the stars. They've caused chaos together on the mortal plane. They’ve spent cozy afternoons staring at the sea sitting on the sand. And so, so many days and mornings and nights in Oz’s room, or in his living room building forts and watching each other’s favorite movies, little hangouts that inevitably turn into hot sex.

They’ve done so much together, but they don’t do little stuff like this. And Damien was so on edge when they entered the building, Oz in his jacket far too big for his tiny frame, the lights and the colors and the couples everywhere. This was not a secretive escapade, this was open and clear.

“What if someone notices and says something? Don’t you want this to stay between us?” Damien had mumbled into the curve of Oz’s neck in line to buy tokens, and Oz had tilted his head.

“ _We’re two highschoolers killing time at an arcade, there’s literally nothing suspicious about this. And if anyone says anything, now or ever, you hold them down and I eat their heart. Sound good?_ ”

“Yes,” Damien admitted, and his anxieties were momentarily appeased as he leaned back out of his friend’s personal space. And now, with his arms wound around Oz’s little waist, feeling his body shake with laughter with his back pressed against Damien’s chest and his head on Damien’s shoulder, Damien laughing right with him, Damien can think of nothing more wonderful.

“ _Wait, wait_ \--” Oz can barely speak through his laughter, his bright, bold, unrelenting laughter, reaching forward to try again, “ _Fuck, this shouldn’t be half as hard as it is--_ ”

“I think you’re just bad at this.”

“ _Shut up!_ ”

His voice was all sunshine and laughter when he said it, absolutely no heat and no malice and Damien was breathless with his face pressed in Oz’s dark hair, in a sea of people and somehow it was still just them. Hours later they are still together, sitting together on the roof, truly alone now. The stars are pretty above their heads, Oz still wearing Damien’s jacket, his head tucked into the prince’s shoulder, sucking idly on his cherry slushie.

“Oz,” Damien says, and Oz hums. Damien tilts his head slightly in favor of him, “You really have no idea what I’m afraid of?”

Oz pauses, and then shifts so slightly, pressing closer to Damien, “ _...I kind of do. A little. Partly because you told me and partly because we were talking about it. It’s like being told not to think about pink elephants._ ”

“What?”

“ _Like, if I told you not to think of pink elephants. What are you now thinking of?_ ”

Damien pauses, “...Pink elephants.”

“ _Yeah. It’s like that. But it’s so, so vague. I don’t really know._ ”

“Well… what do you know?”

Oz is quiet for a moment, only the soft sound of the breeze evident, and then he places his slushie down between Damien’s legs. Damien takes it, and takes a sip.

“ _I know there’s a lot of anxiety there about Hell. About your dads specifically. A lot of pressure?_ ” A pause, “ _You don’t want to be king._ ”

“Of course I don’t want to be king,” Damien scoffs, shrugging slightly so that Oz comes off of his shoulder. He looks away as the little thing sits up straight and looks at him with a sort of confused hurt, “That would fucking blow. I don’t want to trade my freedom for anything. And being king would be trading my freedom for everything.”

“ _Can I listen?_ ” Oz asks in a soft, sincere voice, coming close again, his eyes glowing. Damien shoots him a look, and he meets his gaze, “ _You clearly want to talk about this, and listening would make it easier_.”

Damien stares at him a little longer, and then sighs, looking away.

“Fine. Listen.”

Damien honestly thought that having the actual embodiment of fear listen to the fears of his heart laid bare would feel like something. But it doesn’t. Oz presses his ear up to Damien’s chest and stays very still, and Damien waits, quietly, uneasily, his eyes flickering about the sky above. He feels is own breath pick up, and then time crawls on so slowly, and he hears his own voice cut into the night air, “Oz--”

“ _You’re afraid of Hades more than Satan,_ ” Oz says, in a calm voice that seems to fill every part of Damien’s being, not moving from his position, “ _Because Hades is about law and order and he wants you to be a prince. You’re afraid he will continue to try and fit you into his mold and you will find yourself in chains. You’re afraid of Satan because he is everything you want to be-- free spirited, opposing, rebellious, unfearing and bold. You’re afraid you’ll never be like him, and you won’t, because there are fundamental pieces of you that make you different. You’re afraid he doesn’t love you, and you might be right. Satan is loveless. It’s just a part of him._ ”

Damien is struck into silence by all of it, blinking up to the sky. Oz pulls back to look him in his eyes, and Damien is drawn towards him like some great force of nature.

“ _You’re afraid you’re like him in that sense. Loveless. You’re afraid you’ll end up all by yourself, or married to some powerful entity for show and pleasure, like your fathers. You’re afraid you’ll love too much or too little, or in the wrong way, or that nobody will love you. You’re so fucking afraid of that._ ”

“Oz, stop. Please. Stop.”

Oz stops immediately, his shoulders falling, his eyes dimming a little in the pale moonlight. His hand falls on Damien’s, gently, softly, and he tilts his head, “ _... Are you okay?_ ”

“That’s… fuck, how did you hear all that?”

“ _It’s all there. Your fear, everyone’s fear, is a fundamental part of them_ ,” Oz explains, softly, kindly, his hand coming up and pressing affectionately against Damien's face. Damien closes his eyes tight.

“That’s so much less fun than I thought it’d be.”

“ _They’re your fears, Damien. Of course it scares you._ ”

“Well, what are you afraid of?” He says it snappily, without thinking, just in an attempt to change the subject from all of his own fears. Oz looks at him, and then lets his hand fall as he takes a breath.

“ _I’m… It’s different talking about mine. I can’t hear mine. And they’re so… drowned out? So often. I have so many other fears that aren’t mine._ ”

“Well, give it a shot.”

Oz looks like he’s thinking, watching the ground below in silence for a long while.

“ _...Being alone._ ”

“I thought you liked being alone.”

“ _Being alone for too long in a meaningful way. Being alone in the way that matters. Being alone in the long run, like it’s just me. And I have nobody to think of and nobody to talk to. I’m… afraid of not having the fears of others constantly whispering all around me, because then I’d meet my own fears undiluted after so long, and I don’t know how I’d do it._ ”

Oz takes another moment, his nose scrunching, “ _So… I guess fear itself?_ ”

“Poetic.”

“ _Like yours aren’t_.”

Damien looks aside, and Oz presses closer beside him, “ _A person’s fears tell essentially everything there is to know about them. I want you to understand how intimate it is. I feel really close to you._ ”

Damien looks at him, meets those pretty eyes, “Um, that’s kinda gay.”

“ _Not in a romantic way, don’t make it weird,_ ” Oz says, and Damien feels his heart sink just a little, like a half step, “ _Just… you. As a person. I feel like you’re realer now, somehow. It’s… I think it’s lovely._ ”

Damien stares at him. He is beautiful, he is. He is the exact essence of the night framed by all those many stars behind him, the light in his eyes, like the darkness given form. Damien wants to pull him closer and let him stay there. Damien wants to take his skinny hands in his own and profess his adoration. He wants to tell him all the workings of his heart over these eight months, and how they’ve been killing him, and how he dreads pulling the shards of glass from his heart when his feelings break loose.

He doesn’t do any of that. Instead, he says, “What’s your family like?”

Oz closes his eyes and turns away, “ _Let’s talk about something else._ ”

“No, I want to talk about this. You know about mine.”

“ _I can’t, Damien_.”

“Why not? It can’t be that bad.”

“ _It is that bad, and I don’t want to talk about it._ ”

The silence hangs between them like smoke and glass.

“ _Just… Not tonight. Another night. I promise you. I promise. Just, please, not tonight._ ”

Damien turns that over in his head, staring silently at the miracle before him, the beauty incarnate, and he says, stupidly, “Okay.”

An hour later he sits on his motorcycle, listening to the hum of it, one foot on the pavement, watching Oz walk up to his front door. He turns and looks over his shoulder, and for just a moment everything is certain. For just a moment Damien is absolutely sure he will rush from the street and onto the doorstop, and he will pull Oz close and say he doesn’t want this, he wants more, he wants all the real pieces of Oz and he wants to show Oz all of his, and he wants more nights like this and more nights like all the others that came before. He wants something so similar and so fundamentally different, so revolutionary. He wants to tell him he can’t stand to be without him a second longer, and he means it, he does.

But he doesn’t move, and Oz disappears behind the black door of his townhome. And Damien turns his gaze towards the street, smelling the smoke as it comes from his bike. And he leaves.


	5. chapter five

The charcoal pencil moves across the paper like a living thing, like a dancer, like a little redheaded ballerina boy who has a tendency to get picked on in alleys near his school. And yet here, all alone, when it is just him and his canvas-- the empty classroom he practices in, to keep the metaphor-- he is really a sight to behold. And the pencil moves in a lovely way that is like the lovely way the human boy dances, and it illustrates something beautiful which lives in his heart. It illustrates him, all alone, on his knees all torn from a particular altercation, blood splattering the stark white of his school uniform on his shirt, and blending in with the darkness of his pants, his vest. On the paper it isn't red. No fear is red. Fear is black, all of it. Even blood. Especially blood. And none of the blood belongs to him, and yet now all of it somehow does. His eyes are big and bright and beautiful and terrified, the blood painting his pale skin, the drops indistinguishable from his many freckles. It darkens his hair, his lips. He is afraid, he is so terribly afraid. The power that tore his tormentors apart didn't come from him, but he doesn't know that. That's the part that scares him so bad-- not that Oz will do the same thing to him, but that he was himself Oz, and that somehow he was unaware.

Of course, he is wrong. But it ripens his fear like fruit blossoming in the spring, thinking something terrible is inside him. It's beautiful, it's pure.

Oz tears the page out and sets it aside when he's finished. It falls right into place beside other illustrations of fear, and then the shadows gently swallow them all, to return whenever Oz would like to look at them. Oz shifts his headphones on his head and listens for a moment, waiting to find who he will see in the song.

" _...His words are quiet like stains are--_ "

Oz closes his eyes, lets his head fall back against the wall. It's Vicky.

" _...On a tablecloth washed in a river._  
 _Stains that are trying to cover_  
 _For each other_  
 _Or at least blend in with the pattern._ "

The pencil starts again. This time it outlines the figure of a small girl. She is young, and petite, and in fact she can't have been born more than a month ago. She has the form of a teenage girl, a small girl, with her skin too pale and stitched together by someone with much care. She is beautiful, like a porcelain doll, and yet she is not what the man who created her wanted. She didn't ask to be created, and yet here she is. One would think if someone took the time and care required to create life out of nothing, they would take as much time and care to nurture that life. Instead Victoria Schmidt wandered the single dark room which she occupied of the house she was born in alone, confused, afraid. And occasionally Lawrence Schmidt would throw open the door and startle her backwards, and he would grab her by her hair and scream about how she was supposed to be be beautiful and he did everything right.

" _Good is better than perfect_  
 _Scrub till your fingers are bleeding_  
 _And I'm crying for things that_  
 _I tell others to do without crying._ "

Her face is bloodied, and bruised, and she isn't wearing anything, because he never gave her anything. In all their time together, he gave her nothing but an empty opportunity to earn his love which she threw her entire being into. When he would snap at her she had no way of responding, desperately trying to make herself make the graceful sounds of language and failing completely. She would clean, because she knew how to do that, because he showed her and she simply repeated, and in the quiet of her room she would sit in the dark and try to speak the words she'd heard, try and connect the meanings to the sounds. It took her so long. That was years ago.

" _He used to go to his favorite bookstores_  
 _And rip out his favorite pages_  
 _And stuff 'em into his breast pockets_  
 _The moon, to him, was a stranger_

_And now he sits down at a table_

_right next to the window_   
_And begins his quiet ascension_   
_Without anyone's steady instruction_

_To a place of no religion_

_He's found a path to her likeness_  
 _He eats a small lump of sugar_  
 _And smiles at the moon like he knows her_ "

She was so afraid of life, of life itself. Her creator had sent out to give her this great gift, she thought, and instead it was her great curse. She was a monster, an abomination, and she couldn't speak, couldn't understand, couldn't function. Her brain was like pages of a book out of order, or a diagram without the strings connecting it all. She was ugly, and she was small, and she was weak, and she craved love and kindness and she found none.

And yet, she never wanted to inspire fear. Never. The day he died Vicky cried for days. She was inconsolable, and he had never given her anything she had ever wanted, and she didn't care. He was the only soul in all the world besides herself, and she loved him, and he was gone. That was so long ago, but it defined her. To this day, that fear defines her. Being afraid of being the worthless and hideous mistake of a madman. Oz knew that about his friend, already, and still it hurts him to think about. He does everything in his power to assure her of the contrary, every day, and yet it isn't enough and it never will be. Fears don't work like that, especially not these fears. They will always, always be a part of her.

He sets the paper aside and the shadows swallow it up.

He lays down on his back, his head falling against the pillow, his eyes falling closed as the music falls away and he is left with the momentary silence. Then the music swells back up, and this time it isn't fear. And yet it makes Oz's heart ache in such a real way when he determines what the song is, in a way that makes his fragile hands come up and press against the swell of his headphones on each ear and hold it, as if it will escape him if he doesn't.

" _The only thing that keeps me from driving this car_  
 _Half-light, jack knife into the canyon at night_  
 _Signs and wonders, Perseus aligned with the skull_  
 _Slain Medusa, Pegasus alight from us all_ "

This is the song that always finds him. The one thing that strikes him in a way that comes close to fear is sadness. Grief. Those things go hand in hand, he supposes, but while his fears have a hard time finding him in the crowd, his despairs have no such trouble. The artist that sings this song breaks Oz's heart with every song and every note, because they all resonate with him so deeply, but this one especially. It is always this one.

" _Do I care if I survive this? bury the dead where they’re found._  
 _In a veil of great surprises I wonder did you love me at all?_ "

It makes him think of his mother.

Oz supposes she must have been something, as he is fear, but he has no idea what. She might as well have been made of mysteries. She was the one thing that mattered in his life, the one thing he loved and needed and clung to, and he hasn't seen her in so, so long. She disappeared. She crept into his room in the night, and she kissed his forehead, and she called him her little love, which she had done many times. And she told him never to forget and never to fade. And then she left. And she was gone. She was just gone.

And Oz's childhood  with his mother was so big and complicated, and she was gone so often and he was alone so often, and sometimes he was certain he hated her, and sometimes he so desperately adored her. And once she was gone he knew for perhaps the first true time that he didn't know her at all. He never had.

" _The only thing that keeps me from cutting my arm_  
 _Cross hatch, warm bath, Holiday Inn after dark_  
 _Signs and wonders, water stain writing the wall_  
 _Daniel’s message, blood of the moon on us all_

_Do I care if I despise this, nothing else matters, I know_  
 _In a veil of great disguises, how do I live with your ghost?_ "

Everything he knew he knew because of her. Everything he lived he lived because of her. Everything he was was composed of pieces of her. It consumes him, it so often eats him whole and swallows him down into the darkest depths of despair. It is so immeasurably painful, every second of every hour it is painful and he misses her and he hates her for leaving him here with nothing. He knows nothing about her but the way her voice sounded like music and the song was always sad, and the stark white curls of her hair and her white skin and her eyes the pure essence of the nighttime, tears glittering on her cheeks and her lashes like stars. He remembers how she was always cold, when she held him at night and said nothing at all as she whispered.

He knows absolutely nothing about her except that she is the cornerstone of his being, every cornerstone, and for so long she was the single thing that could break his heart.

" _Should I tear my eyes out now?_

_Everything I see returns to you somehow_  
 _Should I tear my heart out now?_  
 _Everything I feel returns to you somehow_  
 _I want to save you from your sorrow._ "

And even now, even as the song plays through him and wrenches his heart and makes his soul shiver, as it brings tears streaming down his face, the song concludes, eventually, as all songs do.

" _Do I care if I survive this, bury the dead where they’re found_

_In a veil of great surprises, hold to my head till I drown_   
_Should I tear my eyes out now, before I see too much?_   
_Should I tear my arms out now, I wanna feel your touch_

_Should I tear my eyes out now?_  
 _Everything I see returns to you somehow_  
 _Should I tear my heart out now?_  
 _Everything I feel returns to you somehow._ "

And he knows, he learned, months ago, that she is no longer the only thing that can break his heart. That in itself is such a revolutionarily terrifying, singularly amazing thing. At first he was angry, outraged at his own heart that he had found himself once again loving fully and completely and blindly an enigma which would never give him the love he so craved. Damien LaVey will never be Oz's home. He can't, because he doesn't know how. It is the lesson about love he learned when he was so young, so long ago. Damien LaVey is meant to be Oz's flame, his hearth, warming his cold bones and melting his heart which never learned to beat quite right.

Damien LaVey will never love him. Oz knows. And after all this time, Oz has accepted that fact. Oz will love him, and then Oz will lose him, and he will come out with a beating heart. He will have changed. And he hopes he'll change for the better. He hopes Damien won't forget him, but knows he probably will. He knows, though, that he will be unable to shake Damien LaVey's voice and touch and warmth from his fragile bones for the rest of his life. He will not be able to tear Damien from his heart if he dedicates his existence to it.

Another song, by the same artist, with the same heartbreaking voice and music is playing in his ears.

" _So can we be friends sweetly_  
 _Before the mystery ends?_  
 _I love you more than the world can contain_  
 _in its lonely and ramshackle head._  
 _There's only a shadow of me_  
 _in a matter of speaking I'm dead_

_I'm holding my breath_  
 _My tongue on your chest_  
 _What can be said of my heart?_  
 _If history speaks, the kiss on my cheek_  
 _Where there remains but a mark._  
 _Beloved my John, so I'll carry on_  
 _Counting my cards down to one._  
 _And when I am dead, come visit my bed_  
 _My fossil is bright in the sun._ "

 

Oz loves Damien. He does. More than he can bear, most nights. When they are apart it is unbearably painful, like being caught all alone in a blizzard, and when they are together it is like burning alive. And yet he will take the fire, every time, because he's been cold for too long. And something about the smokey sweetness of his voice, his strong arms and his dark eyes, everything about him adding color to the monochrome, red, bright red, something about that makes it all so worth it.

He drifts off with the soft light of the afternoon against his hair, almost able to smell the kerosene.


	6. chapter six

Rage is Damien's default. It comes often, and unprovoked, and uncontrollable, impossible to contain and not easy to bear. And when the anger comes hot behind his eyes, burning in his chest, sometimes it has no target, and sometimes it has every target, and sometimes it has just one. He tears through the hall of his high school with his footsteps burning behind him, shouting at anything and anyone who comes near, shoving bystanders to the ground and to the lockers. He is anger incarnate, and he does not know how to behave, and he will not be appeased.

He turns the corner and throws open the doors leading outside. His breath gathers in the cold evening air, drifting from him and outwards, and he can't tell if it is cold or if he is just so extraordinarily burning up. His gaze turns up to the sky. It's dark, it's just turned dark. The moon and the stars glitter in the sky and it reminds Damien of a boy made of fear and shadows, the white shining bright in his eyes against the void, sparkling. And then the anger burns brighter, because that is precisely why is so mad to begin with.

Damien isn't used to being so helplessly in love, and it tears him up, because there is nothing he can do with or about it. He is a fool for Oz, this naturally occurring beauty, this unattainable irreplaceable wonder, and he is rendered powerless. He isn't used to being powerless. It hurts, and the rage burns through his blood.

The grass burns under his feet and he can smell it.

[From: **Oz** ] would i be correct if i assumed the scorch marks wall to wall in the hallway is you?

Damien looks down at his phone, seeing the smoke from the grass dance around him.

[From: **Damien** ] Fuck off

[From: **Oz** ] oh, gotcha, we're in that mood.

[From: **Oz** ] omw, are you outside?

Damien feels his face flushing, his heart beating too hard and too fast at how well Oz knows him, knows where to find him and how to cool him down, and so much of the rage has left him, instantly, and that makes him mad all over again. No one person should have all this power over him. He feels like a puppet, like Oz holds the strings and doesn't even know his own power.

It makes him want to kill _everything_.

Instead he turns to face the door when it opens behind him and a pretty boy steps out into the night air, wearing a sweater that is too big for his little frame. Damien stops, eyes flickering over his friend. After a long silence, he finally comes closer.

"...Did you change your form? What happened to your hair?"

Oz flushes visibly in the dark, his cheeks darkening and his head tilting down in sudden embarrassment, and it's all adorable. He's so fucking cute and Damien can't stand it. His dark hair is a little longer now, especially the top, and more importantly it's curly, pretty, tight, soft curls falling about his eyes. It's so different, and so alluring, and so alarming.

" _Yeah, I did_."

"Why?"

" _Mm_..." Oz says, softly, shifting in a meek way under Damien's gaze, "... _Long, personal, convoluted explanation. I doubt you want to hear it right now_."

Damien would love to hear it right now, he would love to hear everything and anything that is a piece of Oz, and he would love that at any moment. But Oz says too quickly while he tucks one of those soft curls away behind his ear, " _Do you like it?_ "

"Yeah," Damien says, and he means it, his voice too gentle when he says it, too sweet, and he's reaching out to card his hand through it, which Oz tilts his head into, a simple and affectionate and dizzily sweet movement, "It suits you."

" _Thanks, Damien_ ," Oz says, and his voice sounds like a smile, " _Um... are you less mad now? Because I really did come here with the intention of stealing you away to do some crazy shit with me. You know, to let out some steam. I thought you'd like it_."

"You did?" Damien says, stupidly, and Oz just looks at him, so he says, "I mean-- yeah, that sounds like fun. I was literally just thinking about how badly I wanted to murder basically everything."

Oz laughs in his head, musically, and he tilts his head in the worst kind of beautiful way, and his hair really does look so pretty in those curls, " _What do you have in mind?_ "

 

The human is a middle aged man, spindly and creepy and tall, taller than Oz but not taller than Damien, and he keeps looking over his shoulders as he walks so briskly along the sidewalk, his hand clutching the gun where it is hidden in his pocket.

"Jesus fucking--" Damien groans, and he feels Oz slip his hand into his and squeeze, and it makes him dizzy immediately, "Can this guy be any more fucking obvious? He's going to get us arrested before we even get to the damn store."

" _I don't think people get arrested for looking creepy._ "

"Are you serious? I'd arrest the fuck out of this guy."

Oz hums in a little noncommittal way, shrugging, " _Doesn't really matter. We're here now._ "

The man stops outside the door to the sex shop and takes a breath, staring into the window, frozen in place. Damien and Oz watch him, silently, anticipating, waiting for him to get to the fun part. Then he turns around so suddenly and presses his back up against the glass, his eyes wide, his breath fast, his chest heaving. Damien rolls his eyes, huffing a little smoky breath out into the night air.

"Fuck's sake."

" _Mm, maybe we should have picked another one._ "

"No, he'll be fine," Damien insists, nearly hissing, and then steps closer, feeling the fire burning in his eyes as his voice shifts so that the man can hear him, him and only him, his voice singsongy and sultry and pissed and insistent, "Mr. Jones, we are burning moonlight here. Could we move this along?"

"I can't," The man whispers, gasping for air, sweat rolling down his brow, "I-I can't."

" _Damien, this is almost sad._ "

"Yeah, almost. But think about how much wicked fun it'll be when he gets his ass in gear," Damien's voice shifts again as he comes closer, hissing, "C'mon, you know you want to. Just do it. Do it. You're boring me to death, fucking do it."

Something in the man's eyes changes into something chaotic, something that smells like hellfire, and Damien grins, laughs, feels the fire behind his own eyes, in his chest, dancing between his fingers, "There we fucking go."

Oz laughs behind him, rushing closer to watch as the man pulls his gun and shoots the glass out of the windows of the sex shop. Screams go up inside, and the man yells over all of them, something ridiculous, something insane, something chaotic. With a flick of Damien's wrist the shop catches fire and Oz laughs when Damien takes him by the small of his back and pulls him close, "Wanna have some fun?"

" _With you? Always._ "

 

They leave the shop laughing breathlessly, and minutes later Damien has Oz pressed up against a brick building with one hand in that pretty curly hair and the other holding his hip while he grinds against him, relishing the pretty gasps and moans that come from the shadow boy as he rocks his hips forward to meet the rhythm. The rhythm is hungry, fast and fierce and Oz's breath is cold against Damien's neck, and he tastes like he always does as Damien bites at his neck.

" _Damien, Damien,_ " He chants, gasping for breath, his arms wrapped tight around Damien's neck. Damien is burning up, fumbling with Oz's button and his zipper, and the boy is trying so hard to catch his breath as he does, " _Damien, here?_ "

"Fuck yeah, here. That okay?"

" _Yes, hell yes_."

Damien grins, pulling his jeans off of his skinny hips and kissing at his neck, before Oz gasps, squeezing his shoulders, " _I have a fun idea_."

"Mm, yeah? Which is?"

Damien has Oz's little hips pulled right up to his own, so he feels the shadow separate into ooze between his legs and then reform into something new, and solid, and hard.

"Oh, fuck."

" _Wanna suck me off?_ " Oz purrs, kissing underneath Damien's jaw, " _Would you like that, or?"_

"No, _yes_ , holy fuck, I would like that so much," Damien sounds like a goddamn idiot as he drops to his knees in front of the beautiful monster, holding his little hips, staring at his pretty dick and feeling absolutely breathless, "It's so cute."

" _You think so?_ "

" _Hell_ yes," Damien confirms. It isn't big, not by any means, but it is so unbearably adorable, so mind numbingly sexy. His snake tongue darts out and licks the underside, and Oz gasps outright, throwing his head back and cursing, quietly. Damien feels his face flush completely as he takes it into his mouth and sucks hard on the little head, adoring the sound of the boy above him moaning, the way he squirms where Damien holds his hips. Oz has no determinate form, no determinate sex, and everything he is is entirely of his own creation. His face, his body, his hair, his sex. He almost always prefers his pussy, only ever choosing to have a dick maybe two or three times in the months he and Damien have been having sex. As Damien bobs deeper and sucks him in a way that makes him squeal, Damien wonders why that is.

"Ozzie?" He asks when he comes up for air, his hand working to stroke him, looking up and watching the way his eyes sparkle with pleasure.

" _M-mhm?_ "

"How come you never really have these parts?"

" _Mm, I guess I just usually prefer having my pussy,_ " He says, absently, " _It usually feels better. And I have a thing for being penetrated but I can't stand anal._ "

"Yeah?"

" _Yeah. It's not really a conscious thing, I'm just generally more comfortable with that anatomy for whatever reason. But of course we can still switch it up for fun._ "

"Oh, yeah. Of course. Your dick gets cuter everytime I see it."

" _Ha_ ," Oz huffs, gasping when Damien sinks back down to suck on him, " _\--You're crazy._ "

"Crazy about _you_ , baby," Damien laughs, kissing the head of his cock, adoring the way it leaks and twitches as he looks up, "Can I have your pussy now? I wanna fuck your heart out."

Oz's eyes light up, and the thing between his legs melts away into shadowy ooze, and his form reconstructs in a prettily familiar way as he turns around and presses up against the brick wall, one hand reaching behind him to spread himself, showing off how wet he is, making Damien's head spin from where he still kneels below him. He looks over his shoulder in an irresistible way, and that's it, Damien rushes up to bury his face in his pussy, making him gasp in surprise above. Fuck it, he'll nail him after this. He needs to get his mouth on him first.

By the time Damien takes him home he is too tired to drive home, and falls asleep on Oz's couch with the boy curled up in his side. He never actually used the sex toys he stole from the shop, and he makes a little mental note to come back to that, because he's so positive that Oz will love the vibrators he took. 

 

When he wakes up, the light is streaming through the window, and he can smell coffee. He sits up, wincing at the ache in his neck before he looks over the back of the couch into the kitchen, taking in the sight of Oz in an oversized t-shirt, in his underwear, his eyes closed and holding the coffee close to his face to smell it, to feel the warmth, his hair so pretty with those new curls, and Damien commits all of it to memory and tucks it behind a corner of his heart, seals it away in a little jar that is too small to hold everything inside, that will surely break very very soon.


	7. chapter seven

His breath is cold against the hot air surrounding them, his skin always so cool against Damien's burning heat, so smooth, the sounds of his little gasps coming fast and chilly against Damien's face where his forehead is pressed to Oz's. The shadow monster is breathless, and his back is arched into the couch behind him, and his hips rock smoothly into Damien's, into the rhythm, the cool tightness of him, his hands holding his little thighs tightly, cherishing the feeling, loving Oz's hands in his hair.

" _Damien_ ," He says, and his voice sounds like a prayer, " _Damien, yes_."

"You feel amazing, Oz," Damien returns, and he means it, rocking up slow and sweet, feeling the affection flooding him, like fire from the stake, or in Oz's case like water breaking the ice up in a river. Damien feels like he is drowning as Oz cries out and presses closer, tucking his face into Damien's shoulder.

" _Damien_ ," He says, breathlessly, " _I'm close. I'm so close_."

"Come, baby," Damien tells him, and adores the sound of him losing his breath, the way his back arches and his body tightens, carrying Damien swiftly to his own climax. He curses into his friend's cold skin, and takes a few moments to recover wrapped up in Oz before the boy sighs and pulls away, white come oozing alongside the inky shadows, the boy's chest heaving with the illusion of breath. Damien watches, breathless himself, lovingly taking in the sight of the boy before him.

"I really love your hair," He says, and Oz laughs, pressing his forehead to Damien's. A little moment of sweet silence passes before Oz asks, " _Did... Um, did I ever tell you why I changed it?_ "

"No," Damien answers, trying not to sound too excited to hear the story despite exactly how excited he is. He knows it can't be too serious, but it's a story, and Oz said it was personal and complicated, and it's a mystery, and Damien wants to unlock all of his mysteries, one by one. Oz hums, thoughtfully, and when he pulls back and traces his fingers affectionately along Damien's cheek he looks like he would be smiling.

" _...It's a lot._ "

"The story of your hair? Really?"

" _I know. You'll understand when I'm done-- I mean, if you do want to hear it. I understand if--_ "

"I want to hear it," Damien says, and Oz blinks, clearly surprised, and Damien insists, just to make it absolutely clear that he means what he says, "I want to hear it. All of it."

A few more silent moments go by, and Oz eventually softens from the surprise, pressing the cool palm of his hand to Damien's warm face, " _Um... can you make us some drinks? We'll need them for this. I'll be right back._ "

Damien watches him rise, finding something wholly endearing about the way his come leaks from between his legs as Oz's pussy stitches closed to keep it contained. About the way he pulls the hem of his shirt down over that, as if it is anything Damien hasn't seen a million and a half times, as if he doesn't love it, as if he doesn't love him, the soft and dreamy sound of his voice when he repeats, " _I'll be right back_ ," The shape of his legs as he pads down the hall and disappears into his room with a soft click of his door.

Damien makes them some drinks.

When Oz returns a few minutes later, Damien has just sat down at the table, two glasses at two seats, the bottle on standby for refills.

Oz is slightly more dressed, now, wearing short sleep shorts and Damien's jacket, retrieved from his bedroom where they'd had sex a few hours prior. They've been here a while. As Oz sits down at the table, Damien finally makes a decision on that jacket, and decides he isn't going to ask for it back. It looks too cute on him, too sweet, and it makes Damien feel like Oz is his, in some small way. It makes deluding himself easy and sweet.

Oz's mouth splits so that he can swallow the alcohol down, and Damien wastes no time pouring him more, which he simply holds in his hands this time. Damien takes a sip himself, eyes never leaving Oz's pretty face, which is a little scrunched at his nose, his eyebrows as he thinks.

" _I was never..._ " He starts, then trails off. The silence holds before he tries again, " _My childhood..._ " and then stops again. Damien feels his spine straighten, his eyes flickering over the boy in front of him.

He was already interested, of course, but knowing the topic exactly is different, entirely, and he feels his heart jump in his chest. This is the answer to two of his questions at once, and one of them was his biggest question. Oz's gaze flickers up to him before he swallows the alcohol in his hands, pouring more.

" _I don't know my mother's name,_ " He says, and his voice is quiet, and it breaks Damien's heart. He is stunned into silence by the bluntness, for just a moment, before he recovers, finding his voice again.

"You never met her?" Damien asks, and Oz shakes his head, quickly.

" _No, I did. She was around until I was about ten_ ," Oz clarifies, and that's so much worse, in Damien's books, and from the pained look on his face in Oz's too, " _I just... don't know anything about her. And I didn't realize it until she was gone but I don't know anything about her. I never did. She was a mystery, this looming enigma that was every piece of me for my entire life, and I knew absolutely nothing about her._ "

"That's..." Damien swallows, "I'm so sorry."

" _And nobody knows about it but Vicky and Amira and Brian,_ " Oz continues, and Damien tries not to feel too special, and he fails, " _Because they're the only ones I trust and I've been with them since basically right after she left. I don't know who my father is, because I never met him-- I might not even have one. And if I do, I just-- I wonder if he knew as little about her as I do? If he knows about me and just doesn't care, or if he was just a passerby and he would be shocked if he learned about me_."

Oz rests his chin in his hand, and blinks so slowly, and his fingers tap lightly on the table.

" _She was around sometimes, but when she was she was like a ghost. She was always, always so sad. She would always cry when she held me. And she would whisper but she would never say anything. Nothing at all. The only real words she would say were 'little love'. She'd call me that before she left,_ " Oz's breath hitches a little in his throat, and he looks aside, " _I, um... Those years were what taught me true loneliness. It's why I make you leave sometimes, it's why I don't live with Vicky or Brian or Amira. It's just... It was the only thing I knew for so long, and it's a safe space._ "

Damien stares at him, can't take his eyes off of him. It's so heartbreaking to imagine Oz, little, wide eyed and all alone and so afraid. He realizes that's what Oz meant on the roof that night when he said he was afraid of being alone with his own fears after so long. He hasn't been alone 'in the way that matters' since his mother. Oz's gaze flickers to Damien, and Damien leans forward.

"Do you still love her?"

" _I don't know if I ever did,_ " Oz admits in a quiet voice, " _But I don't know that I didn't, and I don't know that I don't. I have no idea. I don't know where to start. I was... I don't know. I was so sure I hated her sometimes, for leaving me all alone, for making me do it by myself when I was so young and I needed her. But sometimes I loved her so much, and all I wanted was for her to come home so I could fall into her arms and cry, and cry, just like she did, and never ever stop crying._ "

Damien nods, softly, slowly, not sure what to say, how to respond. How does one respond to this? Oz stares at him for a while, quietly, looking over him, before Damien says, "Do you look like her?"

" _Sort of,_ " Oz says, " _Yes and no. She was... like my inverse? She was this glittering, startling white. And her eyes were so black, and when she would cry, she was always crying, ink would fall on the floor at her feet. When I was little I decided that's how I was born, enough of those ink tears gathered up and given form._ "

Oz catches Damien's eye, and clarifies, " _That probably isn't what actually happened, but honestly it's as good a guess as any._ "

"What happened when she left?" Damien asks, "Where did you go?"

" _Oh, the orphanage, first. For a few years. That's where I met Vicky. When I was fourteen I moved in here. It's... It's really far from the house I grew up in, but it's still in my name. Technically, it's still mine._ "

"Really?"

" _Yeah. But I haven't been there in years, not since I left,_ " He raises the glass to his face, but doesn't drink, " _It's... It's too much._ "

Damien watches as he simply stares forward and then returns his gaze to him. For a few extremely real moments, Damien is so certain his chest will explode, with all of it, so certain that these real pieces of Oz that he now has will tear him apart, will have love spilling in it's purest form from his lips.

But instead what he says is, "So... Why the hair?"

" _Her hair looked like this,_ " Oz explains, " _Curly. All soft and fluffy. I always loved it but I was never brave enough to adopt it. And... I guess I'm braver now,_ " He hesitates visibly before admitting, " _A lot of that is because of you, Damien._ "

Damien's heart swells, and aches, and hurts so fucking bad, and all he wants to do is pull Oz close and tell him he will never, ever be alone again. He wants to make sure he is no mystery, that Oz knows him better than Damien knows himself, and he wants to remind Oz every fucking day who Damien's heart belongs to.

And yet, he doesn't. He can't.

His fate feels sealed, now, like the great truth he knew but hadn't seen spelled out has finally been written in the boldest, blackest ink. Oz learned so young how to be lonely, and that is why he will never be Damien's. Oz has kept him at arm's length, and Damien will never, ever come any closer, because the first person that was supposed to be close to Oz left him to do this alone.

And Damien knows Oz's fear. Damien knows the fear that Oz has lost touch with after all this time, the fear that haunts him and guides everything he does. Oz isn't afraid of being alone, not anymore, not for a long time-- Oz is afraid of not being alone. In the way that matters. Oz is afraid of being close enough to someone for them to leave him all at once. He's afraid that alone is his true state, and he's afraid that if he lets someone close and they tear themselves away he will have to learn loneliness from scratch, all over again.

Old traumas are hard to erase, and Damien doesn't know the first thing about it. All he has is love, and he knows that isn't enough. He knows, and it burns him up inside as Oz leans on his hand, sleepy from the alcohol and from the late hour. Damien has collected the realest and brightest and most precious piece of Oz there is, the most secret, the most significant, and he almost wishes he hadn't. It makes him angry, it burns him up, it makes him want to reach into the past and rewrite Oz's history and make it safe and sweet.

And yet, nothing can be changed.

And Damien carries Oz to bed anyway, and he kisses him between his eyebrows while he sleeps, and he leaves through the window out into the night. All he has is love, and it won't be enough.

He leaves his jacket wrapped around his love.


	8. chapter eight

The music is blaringly loud, obnoxious, drilling into Damien's skull in a way that only fuels the anger already residing there, his cup shaking with the bass of the song, his eyes shut tight and his fingers on his temple.

_"I don't want to go to a dumb fucking party. You can have fun without me, I'm not going."_

He feels his teeth fit together and grind, the smoke slipping from between his lips, the pure unadulterated rage. It's a stupid thing to be mad over, of course it is, because parties aren't Oz's thing, not really, and while he likes them sometimes he doesn't want to go to them the majority of the time. And still Damien feels abandoned, and that makes him insecure, and that makes him fucking angry.

_"It's not going to be any fun without you."_

_"Uh-huh. Seriously, I'm sure you could find some cute girl to stand in for me."_

Someone has the bad luck of stumbling into him, and he acts quickly, too quickly, like flames cutting through kerosene, and the small monster is on their back on the floor, surrounded by broken glass in a matter of moments, and a chorus of startled and drunken shouts go up around them, and Damien's hair and hands aflame as he screams at them to watch where they're _fucking_ going. And yet he still can't scream louder than Polly's awful music.

Oz likes the prettiest, softest, most heartbreaking music, and it sounds just like him when Damien listens to it all alone while he drives, rides his motorcycle to nowhere, into oblivion.  And that thought enrages him more, because Oz would hate this music, or maybe he would like it, depending on how he was feeling. And maybe he'd dance with Damien, and laugh, Damien's jacket hanging off of his little shoulders. Or maybe he'd pull away when they were done with the fun part, and lock the door behind him.

"What is your problem?"

Damien grabs the closest glass bottle from the closest bystander and shatters it on the counter, and he whips around ready to kill. He's anger incarnate and he wants blood. The only thing that can save his soul at this point is Oz's heart or a damn good fight, and he isn't getting one of those things.

He freezes when it registers who he is facing, and then his shoulders fall a fraction, and he drops the glass bottle down to his side. He blinks, letting the anger give way to frustration, annoyance, a small flame that is better tucked away.

"Who the hell do you think you're talking to?"

"Right now?" Vicky tilts her head, her hand on her hip in this cutely, femininely feisty way, her curly hair pulled up in sweet pigtails, in this sweet dress with lightning bolts on it, a leather jacket on over it, these combat boots over her fishnet tights, looking like the epitome of high school party and Damien wonders briefly who the hell she's trying to impress, "The psychopath that's about to start murdering random people for some mystery reason. Or if what Oz has told me about you is to be believed, probably no reason."

"Oh, is that what he told you?" Damien hisses, knocking into her shoulder as he brushes past her. He feels her stumble hard, and nearly fall, but she straightens up and rushes after him as he storms through the crowd.

"What is wrong with you?"

"What, Ozziebear hasn't told you that, too? I'm a goddamned natural disaster, sweetheart, and I'm fucking mad. Get lost before you're target practice."

"I'm not scared of you," Vicky informs him, in this cute sweet little voice, and he turns around to glare at her, and she raises her chin defiantly.

"Seriously, what is your damage?"

"You are about to be seriously damaged if you don't get the hell out of my face."

"Oh, Oz would love that."

"I don't give a fuck what Oz would love," Damien hisses, and he turns from her, starts towards the exit again, thoroughly done with the party in its entirety. And Oz will find out he yelled at his best friend and take another step back, distance himself a little more, and the thought makes Damien want to taste so much blood. Vicky rushes forward, again, and blocks the doorway with her body, holding her arms out. He stops, glaring down at her. She stares back, not an ounce of fear or submission on her face.

"Did you guys fight or something?"

"Not exactly, no."

"Not exactly?"

"I doubt he'd think it's a big fucking deal, but I think it's a big fucking deal, and I know he doesn't care and that makes it worse. God, I fucking hate this. Get out of my way before I make you. Don't test me. You look like you put a lot of effort into getting dolled up, I'd hate to tear your stitches."

Vicky takes a breath, and then lets it out, her eyes flickering hesitantly about the floor before she puts her arms down and steps aside. Damien moves past her with his blood boiling, with smoke rolling from his mouth. The monster girl clearly doesn't know how to leave it alone, because she follows, still, having to take quicker strides to account for how much shorter she is than Damien.

The night is pretty and dark and cold, glittering with stars, smelling like pine. The terrible party music can still be heard from the house behind them, thumping violently, and Damien wants to burn the entire place down. Vicky huffs beside him, "Damien--"

"Are you still here? Fuck's sake--"

"Would you explain the issue to me, please? Because it sounds like a molehill."

"A what?" Damien is confused enough by the strange phrasing to stop and throw her an incredulous look. The girl stumbles to an abrupt stop and blinks up at him, and then flushes.

"Uh-- A molehill. It's-- It's a human expression. Making mountains out of molehills?"

"What the hell does that even mean?"

"Molehills are little and insignificant, mountains are big and important. It means you're making a big deal out of nothing."

Damien flushes with renewed rage, straightening up and glaring daggers down at her, "Fuck that. I'm making a big deal out of a big deal."

"Are you sure?"

"You wanna hear about this so fucking bad? Why?"

"Because Oz is my friend and he really likes you?"

"Really likes me? Oh my god, really?" Damien raises his voice, squeaky and girly and annoying, turns around and crouches down to her level, which makes her stumble back, looking angry, "How do you know? OMG, I should leave a little note in his fucking locker."

"Why are you being such a prick?"

"Why are you still following me?"

"Would you stop being so fucking aggressive," She falls right into step beside him, and then stands in front of him, making him stop, "Grow the hell up, and talk about whatever this is?"

He shoves her back, and she lands hard on her ass on the ground, and a gasp comes out of her when she hits the ground. The grass ignites at Damien's feet, and his voice is layered and loud when he speaks, fire in his eyes turning his sight red, his hair igniting. She stares up at him with big, doey blue eyes, her knees pressed together like some human girl in a shitty horror film.

"You want to know what's fucking wrong?" He shouts, and she shrinks back, and he presses forward, "I'm a fucking maniac and I can't handle my fucking emotions, and Oz is a fucking mess and he can't handle not being so fucking lonely."

"What are you talking about?"

"We've been doing this for nine goddamn months," He hisses, sharp, severe, "Nine today, exactly. Nine months and I'm still a thousand miles from him. I hardly know anything about him, because he won't fucking let me close to him. I'm there for entertainment, like a relationship without the commitment, which nine months ago sounded fucking perfect, but now it sounds like cosmic punishment for every time I've been a massive dick."

Damien scoffs at the open air in front of him, tilting his head up to the stars and the moon, "Holy hell, look at me. Cosmic punishment. Who the fuck am I? I didn't-- I didn't think I was capable of love, I didn't think I'd ever feel anything more than fun and chaos, and now I'm this fucking lovesick idiot starting fires and fights and shit because the boy who took my damn heart won't go to a stupid fucking party with me."

"Wait, wait-- Damien--"

"It's fucking disgusting," He snarls, glaring back down at her, "Who the hell acts like this? I'm-- I always thought I'd never be in love, and now that I am it's too much, and it's in the wrong way, and he doesn't want it. It's a secret, for fuck's sake. That was his idea, like I fucking care who knows who I'm fucking. He's embarrassed for people to know about it. He's ashamed. What the fuck do I do with that? How does this go in my favor? Tell me, how?"

"Damien, wait, slow down--"

"Shut up," He hisses, "I've had enough of this. Fuck it."

He turns and storms back inside. He is rage. He is anger incarnate, and he wants blood. As he steps onto the bar counter his steel combat boots thump heavily on the counter, and when he shouts it is finally louder than the music, and it cuts off in the wake of him, Polly staring at him wide-eyed from the DJ booth. Smoke rolls from his mouth, and out of the corner of his eye he sees a girl in blue rush in and stand in the doorway, looking panicked. It makes him grin, and then it makes him laugh.

"I have a really fucking metal announcement!" He yells, and Polly shouts back at him, a general exclamation of excitement.

"You know what the most kickass thing in the world is?" He asks her, and she, predictably, returns, "LSD! No-- Crack!"

"It's love!" He yells, holding his hands above his head, and murmurs go up in the crowd of people, consisting of basically the entire high school. Damien is so drunk, and so fucking angry, and so fucking stupid, and he doesn't care about any of it anymore, he doesn't, and he won't.

"And I am in love!" He shouts, "With Oz!"

Surprised sounds go up, and from the crowd someone says, "Shadow boy?"

And someone else says, "He made me so scared I pissed myself because I tried to take the last slice of pizza in the cafeteria!"

"Yeah, that one!" Damien yells, "That's my boy! He's so fucking cute. So fucking cute in fact that we're very much dating! We are so dating that you should totally ask him all about it! Just go fucking nuts pestering him about it. Seriously, he'll love it."

Scattered cheers go up and Damien cheers right along with them, laughing brightly. And when he comes down from the counter the girl is at his side before his feet even hit the ground.

"What the hell did you do?" Her voice is low, and grave, and despite Damien's recent spontaneous decision that he doesn't care anymore, it almost makes him afraid, almost makes him regretful. He shoots her a glance over his shoulder.

"Tell Oz I'm sick of it."

He leaves through the front door, and for the first time tonight, Vicky Schmidt doesn't stop him. His heart is in his stomach, and he pretends it isn't, and he pretends there's a high to ride, and he tears off into the night on his motorcyle.

There are shards of glass digging into his palms-- literal glass, and of course, figurative.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY! so this was a big turning point, and i wanted to take a minute and say thank you SO much if you're reading this! it means a lot to me!! and also, i'm going to be posting some concept art for this fic very soon on my tumblr, @crashtacular. and i'll be linking a playlist soon too.  
> the songs used in the fic so far are "the man of a thousand faces" by regina spektor, "the only thing" and "john my beloved" by sufjan stevens.


	9. chapter nine

[Text from: **Oz** ] What the fuck is wrong with you?

[Text from: **Oz** ] Damien, pick up your phone.

[Text from: **Oz** ] Goddamnit, answer me!

Damien eventually gets sick of the ringing and chucks his phone into the road ahead of him. The glass and metal cracks loudly under his motorcycle as he runs over it, tearing off into the night with the wind in his hair. Even with the sharply cold night air throwing itself at him, he will not be extinguished, still blazing at his fingers, through his hair, in his eyes.

He just drives. He drives, passing cliffs overlooking beaches, and hidden passageways leading to wildflower fields that one would miss if they never went into them lifetimes ago with the one they loved, and and he stops after hours of tearing through the night, somehow finding himself at the high school, somehow finding himself under that damn tree, somehow finding himself staring at the stars.

It is dark, and cold, and quiet, and he is alone. He is alone in the way that matters. The thought makes his heart ache in his chest, like so many shards of glass.

A shadow blots out a star, and then another, and another, and then all of them, and the moon, and it is dark.

Damien feels his heart in his throat, eyes flickering over nothing, and then he is whipping around to face the figure in front of him, a petite, pretty monster made of shadows and fear, his eyes the only light in the dark, his eyes and his teeth, sharp and stark, and he presses forward, and when Damien stumbles back his spine hits the wood of the tree and he winces.

" _What the hell is wrong with you?_ " Oz isn't shouting, and yet his voice is so loud, and layered, and it is inside Damien's skull as always but at the same time it's out in the air, consuming the world and then becoming it. For some reason, it hurts, it causes physical pain, and Damien finds his hands in his hair, pulling, "Ah-- Fuck!"

" _What did you think would happen?_ " Oz's voice is everything, the only thing, " _Did you think if you threw a fucking fit and then ignored me I'd go to hell on my fucking knees?_ "

"How did you--"

" _How did I find you? Are you fucking kidding? Like I don't know you, Damien. I do. Which is why I'm so fucking confused. Since when do you have a problem with me wanting to be alone? Especially since I literally just fucking explained that._ "

Damien hisses up at him, and the grass ignites around him, turning the sky ablaze, and it makes the shadows retreat back into Oz as he steps so quickly back from the fire, and the boy's influence fades just slightly, just enough for Damien to stand up and shove him back by his shoulders so he stumbles and falls back. The boy hits the ground hard, landing on his elbows, and the whites of his eyes flicker out as he closes them with the impact.

"It wasn't about the fucking party," He snarls, and Oz sits up, defiance in his eyes, the shadows gathering around him again.

" _Yeah, I heard. What was it, I'm a fucking mess and I can't deal with not being lonely? Poor fucking baby Damien LaVey is so sad because his emotionally distant love won't let him get close?_ "

"I fucking love you, you brat!" Damien's voice raises and multiplies, one ungodly and sitting underneath, and it does make Oz flinch, "I've been in love with you all this time, and that's never happened to me before. I love you and I fucking apologize that that means something to me."

" _You don't think it means something to me?_ " Oz shouts over him, and the shadows gather again, and Damien closes his eyes, trying to keep the fire from being snuffed out, but Oz is strong, and he's enraged. He rises again, and Damien turns his head when he comes closer, "You have a funny way of showing that."

" _Damien, you didn't talk to me!_ " Oz screams, and his voice breaks in the middle, " _You didn't tell me how you felt, you didn't even ask me how I felt, you just pouted about these fucking assumptions and then acted like a total dick because you're a total_ dick _._ " 

"Fucking assumptions?" Damien shoots him an incredulous look, "I'm not assuming much, Ozzie, it's not rocket science. You're the one who wanted to keep this a secret, hell if I care. You're the one who asks me to leave when we're done. You're not even a _little_ emotionally attached to me, Oz, because you're scared of that shit. You've been scared of that shit forever."

" _Watch it,_ " Oz hisses, and Damien laughs boldly in his face.

"What's wrong? Did I hit a nerve?" He snarls, "Your mom didn't love you so you'll push away anyone who might?"

In an instant Damien is slammed up against the tree, pinned there by shadow, and the world is dark and cold and Oz all over again. He can't breathe, suddenly, and he can't see anything but the void and Oz's eyes, and he can't hear anything but his terrible voice, like nails on a chalkboard.

" _Your dad doesn't love you_ or _his husband. So you'll fuck up anything good you have because you'd rather do it yourself than have someone you really loved fuck it up for you. You'd rather start the fire than get burned. How is this, Damien? Is it better? Do you prefer this?_ "

His ears are ringing as he gasps at the shadows.

" _And what if I loved you?_ " Oz hisses, and that sentence shatters his skull, like glass, like smoke, like shadow, " _Because I_ did _, Damien, I loved you. Maybe I should have said something sooner. Maybe I shouldn't have been so afraid of letting you close, but that was because I thought you didn't fucking want to be. You can't lash out at me for not noticing the feelings you actively hid from me._ "

"Oz--"

The shadows fall away, and so does the horror, and so does the pain. And there is nothing left but Oz, just Oz, standing in front of him with his little chest heaving, tears falling fast down his cheeks, his teeth glinting in the moonlight. Damien's heart constricts in his chest at the sight, and he doesn't know what to do, and he just stands still. Oz's hands wipe away the tears, but it doesn't matter, because they're coming too fast.

" _You're the only thing that's gotten close in a really, really long time,_ " Oz's voice is small now, so small, trembling, breaking, and Damien takes an instinctive step forward to wrap him up, and Oz takes two steps back, glaring defiantly when he looks back up, but the power is gone, and all that is left is betrayal and pain.

Damien can't breathe.

"Oz--"

" _Don't touch me,_ " Oz snaps, moving away again when Damien reaches out. Shadows appear at his hands and produce a leather jacket, Damien's leather jacket, and Oz throws it at his chest with such force and finality that it sends Damien back a step, " _Don't ever fucking touch me._ "

"I'm-- I fucked up," Damien stammers, flushed.

" _Yeah, Damien, you did. God, fuck this. Fuck you, too,_ " He comes closer, locking eyes with him, the tears still falling down his face. His mouth finally disappears, stitches back up, and his voice is quiet and soft when he says, " _This is over. Whatever it was-- Whatever it could have been, if we'd done this different, is over in every conceivable way._ "

"Oz."

" _Don't follow me._ "

The shadows fill his vision, and then Oz is gone. He's just gone.


	10. chapter ten

"Oz, baby, come out."

" _No_."

"Please?" Brian chimes in, and Amira gives him a gently scolding look, to which he offers an apologetic wince. Oz doesn't move from underneath the comforter that covers him completely, only his trembling hands visible as they clutch at the fabric and hold it over him.

" _I don't want to_ ," He says, and his voice shakes.

"What happened?" Vicky asks from behind them, her voice light and soft and high, "Did he hurt you?"

" _No, not really. I mean-- we fought, but Damien--_ " His voice hitches, and he shrinks further into the blanket, " _D-Damien wouldn't ever really hurt me. At least, I don't think so. I don't know anymore._ "

Finally, finally, his head pokes out just slightly from the blanket, tears rolling down his face and splattering it with ink, his chest heaving, his breath all hitched, " _I-- I don't understand. I don't know what-- I can't fathom why he would-- Why he wouldn't just-- And after I told him--"_

Amira comes closer, wraps her arm snuggly around him and lets him tuck his head in the crook of her neck, and he stays there, struggling through hiccuping, sobbing breaths. She is warm, and it helps as much as it hurts him to think of the other warm place he's known. Her heat isn't like Damien's though, not right now, anyway. Amira is so motherly when it comes to the four of them, and letting her hold him is like sitting next to the warmest fire with the most comfortable things. She presses a kiss to his head, cards her fingers through his hair.

"You're going to have to catch us up, love," Amira tells him gently, "Or Vicky can, if you'd prefer."

Oz winces, shrinks away a little bit, " _I'm-- I should have told you all, I'm sorry, I just-- I don't know, I was so scared, and I don't even know why, and I think I just-- I just wanted to keep him to myself, and I thought if I just did that it wouldn't-- But--"_

"Oz," Amira says gently, and he stops, takes a shaking breath, and relaxes.

" _Um, we hooked up at a party nine months ago,_ " He says, softly, " _And we've been friends with benefits ever since, but-- I mean, it was more than that for me._ "

His legs curl up under him, and his eyes close. This is bad, really bad, but at least he isn't a formless shape of shadow on the floor anymore.

It took him almost an hour to reform, and once he did he still hid in the blankets folded on Brian's couch immediately. Oz hasn't been unstable enough to lose his form since he was a child, and seeing him in such a miserable and unstable state was alarming to say the least.

Vicky was the most acquainted on how to deal with it, having known him the longest, and having known him when he was at his worst and smallest and unsteadiest.

" _I-- I really, really, really loved him, guys_."

"So what went wrong?" It's Brian, but despite the touch of bluntness, it is well-intentioned, and they all know. Oz's gaze flickers to his friend, and then falls away again as he takes a shaking breath.

" _I... I don't know. I mean, I do know, I know what he said, but I'm still processing, I guess. I'm still so-- Fuck, I'm still so mad, but now that it's over and he's gone, I'm more sad than anything, I'm just-- I'm so sad._ "

He takes a shaking breath.

" _I told him, um... I told him about-- about my mother. A few weeks ago. And Damien gets so moody and angry but it's never at me. I'm the only thing that can bring him back down sometimes, a lot of the time, and I took pride in that? For a really long time? It just made me feel good knowing I-- I mattered to him that much. But he was so mad tonight, and it hurts because I know this had to have been a long time coming, which makes me feel terrible because he doesn't really handle emotions well and he bottled all of that up for so long for_ me _._ "

"Oz, don't make excuses for him. He's a cunt," Vicky's words really do mismatch her cute voice.

" _I know he is. But still. He-- he told everyone we were dating, which we aren't, and he told everyone he loved me, which I--I guess he does._ "

"Why would he do that?"

"He was making a point," Brian says, so that Oz doesn't have to, and he appreciates it more than any of them know, as he lets himself fall more into Amira's comforting embrace. Brian nods lightly at him, then continues, "How he sees it, he's in love with Oz and Oz is using him for sex. Regardless of if that's true or not-- The _arrangement_ was to use each other for sex, so it's not really a fair accusation at all, but it's Damien, and most people's emotions aren't rational. His are a disaster."

"So what was the point, exactly? To embarrass him?"

"Kind of, actually," Brian says, "Look-- From how Damien sees it, Oz is ashamed of him, and that's why they keep it a secret. Because of how Damien feels about him, that hurts him, which makes him mad because it's Damien. So by putting it all out there he's trying to make a point about how fucked up he thinks it is while also cutting off what's hurting him so bad, which is keeping it in, and it severs the relationship, albeit in an awful and cruel way, which he thought would help to purge, if it's onesided. It's not rational or reasonable at all, but I don't think Damien knows the meaning of either of those words."

A moment of silence goes past, and Brian looks down at his friend, who hasn't moved, breathing quietly against Amira.

"...It was fucked up, Oz. He had no right to do that to you."

" _Maybe he did,_ " Oz whispers, " _I mean, he was so wrong about how I felt about him and why I did what I did, but I can't blame him for the conclusions he ended up drawing. Or how it made him feel._ "

"I guess you can't," Amira says softly, running her hand through his hair in a way that makes him close his eyes, "But you can blame him for what he did with it and how he treated you. Nobody should ever get away with treating you like that."

" _He isn't,_ " Oz says, " _But it still hurts so bad. It's been like a few hours and I miss him so much._ "

 Vicky's phone goes off beside her, and Brian looks over her shoulder at it.

[Text from: **Damien** ] Hey I doubt you want to hear from me but I'm fucking sorry about tonight and I can't get a hold of Oz and I just want to talk to him

The two exchange a look, and Vicky turns her ringer off as they train their eyes on Amira and Oz.

"It will be okay, honey," Amira tells him, and he shakes his head. Vicky picks her phone back up.

[Text from: **Vicky** ] yeah i bet you cant he blocked your number

[Text from: **Damien** ] I fucking assumed. I know you think I'm a prick but I don't want this and I need to talk to him. I fucked up.

[Text from: **Vicky** ] you did fuck up, and he doesn't want to hear from you.

[Text from: **Vicky** ] just leave him alone.

[Text from: **Damien** ] Fuck you

[Text from: **Damien** ] You don't get it. You really, severely don't get it

[Text from: **Damien** ] I cannot fucking lose him and I need you to let me talk to him right now.

" _Vicky?_ "

[Text from: **Vicky** ] goodnight, damien

"I'm sorry. Scott's texting," Vicky lies, passing her phone to Brian, who promptly deletes the texts, along with Damien's number, shortly after blocking him. Amira gives her a kind smile, and Oz is completely oblivious, too busy trying to stop the crying, which has started up again, thick inky tears spilling onto his blanket and Amira's lap. Vicky notices that the blanket has slipped past his shoulders and is pooled around him, which is a small victory.

"Oz," Vicky says, sweetly, reaching forward and taking his hand, "It's going to be okay. I know he meant a lot to you, but you're better without him."

" _I know,_ " Oz says, small, entwining his fingers with hers, " _I know. It just hurts so much._ "

A long silence passes while Oz cries, all of them simply letting him get it out. And eventually the tears stop, and the silence lasts a little longer before Brian breaks it.

"Do you think he'll try and confront you again?"

" _Yes_ ," Oz answers, quietly, curling his legs up to his chest, finally pulling away from Amira's side, but she keeps her hand between his shoulder blades, " _But I don't think he'll be able to._ "

A beat passes before the understanding falls on them all.

"You cast a phobia on him?"

" _Yeah_ ," Oz mumbles, " _It'll keep him from approaching me. It just makes him unimaginably afraid of being seen by or coming anywhere near me. Not digitally, which is why I blocked him, but in every other conceivable way. Except I guess writing me a letter, but he would never do that. I cast a milder, temporary version of it on everyone whenever I want to be left alone at school._ "

Oz looks up, tears still in his eyes, but they've stopped coming, and he looks calm now, " _...He's physically incapable of coming anywhere near me. If he tries to power through it he'll have a complete emotional collapse that'll take at least a week to get over._ "

"That's..." Vicky says, dumbly.

"Nice, Oz," Amira says pridefully, squeezing his shoulder, and for the first time all night he smiles, "That's awesome. I'm proud of you."

"What would you call that?" Brian asks through a little laughter.

"I dunno. Ozziephobia?"

" _Oh god,_ Ozzie _, I hate that nickname,_ " Oz groans, hiding his face in his knees, " _I want to kill it with fire. No,_ fuck _, not fire. This is so hard._ "

"Understood," Vicky says brightly, "No more Ozzie. From now you are just plain old Oz."

"Mhm," Confirms Amira, "We do not borrow nicknames from assholes. Not in this house."

"Or any other house," Brian agrees. Oz laughs, finally, his shoulders pulling up as he does, and it is the most beautiful sound to all of them.

" _I love you guys,_ " He says through the laughter, " _So much._ "

"We love you too, Oz," Brian smiles, and when he holds his arms out Oz falls into him, his arms tight around his neck, Brian's strong hands holding his back in a gentle way. Vicky enthusiastically joins the hug, as does Amira, and all of them stay there for a while, and everything might be okay.

 

A few hours later, Oz is sound asleep on the couch in Brian's living room, covered up in soft blankets. In the kitchen, Vicky is hopped up on the counter with her legs crossed, taking down her pigtails from the party, because she hasn't caught a chance to all night. Her leather jacket is in the dining room, and when Amira enters she thanks her again for letting her borrow it. Brian is standing by the stove, his hands braced on the counter behind him, and Amira sighs, looking over the two of them.

"Has he been texting you, too?"

Vicky blinks, and Brian straightens up, and says so quietly as to not wake Oz in the next room, "Just Vicky. I guess he doesn't have my number-- how does he have yours?"

"I guess he got it from Vera," Amira mumbles, and she looks thoughtfully down at her phone for a moment before handing it over to her friends. Vicky takes it, and Brian crosses to look over her shoulder.

[Text from: **Damien** ] Hey

[Text from: **Damien** ] It's Damien and I know none of you want to talk to me but I really really really fucking need to talk to Oz

[Text from: **Damien** ] ??????

[Text from: **Damien** ] I don't know if you heard what happened but on the off chance you didn't it it is my fucking fault and I'm sorry

[Text from: **Damien** ] He just fucking left and he's not home and I don't know where he is

[Text from: **Damien** ] Would you fucking answer me?

[Text from: **Amira** ] Hi. He is fine, he's with us.

[Text from: **Damien** ] Yeah?? He's okay?

[Text from: **Amira** ] All things considered.

[Text from: **Damien** ] I need to see him. Or talk to him, or something. I can't lose him.

[Text from: **Amira** ] Damien, you already have. Don't come looking for him, he doesn't want to see you. Just leave him alone. I mean it.

"And then I blocked him," Amira mumbles, "But I thought I'd show you two before I deleted his information."

"We already deleted it on mine," Vicky admits, "But this isn't far from it."

"Jesus, this is a mess," Brian mumbles, "I wish he'd told us sooner."

"You know Oz," Amira says softly, and Vicky nods, thoughtfully, with a small sigh, "He's a lonesome creature. All we can do is offer our love and support."

"Is that going to be enough?"

"It's going to have to be," Brian says, quiet, and all of their gazes fall on his sleeping form the next room over, "Because he really needs to know he's not alone right now."

They all stay in the kitchen, in silence, and Oz sleeps. And eventually, so do they, all together.


	11. chapter eleven

"Damien."

The blade glints in the light, the light which is void of all color. Everything in Hell is either red, burning, screaming red, or void of all color. Damien tilts the blade, watches the light flit across it. On the surface, the blade glints rainbow, colorful, and here it is washed out, monochrome. It's like the life has been lifted from it.

"Damien LaVey."

The blade leaves his hand as he throws his shoulder, launching the knife with perfect precision in the direction of the voice. There is no collection of shadows, as there are when Oz teleports, and the man who was just standing there simply no longer is. The blade sticks in the wall a few feet away, and Damien scowls. He turns his head and comes faced with Lord Hades. The man stands straight and tall above him, and Damien tilts his head up to look at him, and his face is cold, and unimpressed.

"Damien LaVey, you will cease this behavior, or you will find someplace else to sulk."

"Fucking make me," Damien hisses, shifting his feet where they rest on the table, ankles crossed.

"What's wrong, son?" His voice is cold, taunting, and it fills Damien with rage, "Did your little playmate finally realize what an insufferable wretch you are?"

Damien's gaze snaps up to his father, shocked, but the man has already turned away as he traces his fingertips along the furniture, walking so slowly, so pristine, so royal, and his voice is deep and slow and smooth when he speaks, "What's his name? Oz? Despair's child, I believe. Fucking Fear Embodied is a little melodramatic, wouldn't you say?"

He spares a glance at his son, who is staring at him with wide eyes, his legs off of the table top now.

"Despair?" Damien repeats, head spinning, "I-I mean, how--"

"Did you really think I didn't know?" Hades interrupts, always speaking so smoothly, so agonizingly slowly, "I know everything. And if I didn't-- you may think twice before fucking your secrets in my domain."

"Who says he's a secret?" Damien hisses, sitting up straight now, his feet pressed to the ground below him, his claws digging into the table, all the curiosity ignited suddenly doused, the fire burning steadily once more, "Maybe I just didn't tell you."

"You're a horrendous liar, Damien. You're ruining my furniture."

The man pulls the chair he'd been tracing out and sits in it, regally, his hands folded over each other on the table, "I also happen to know that the boy is now a nonissue, pointedly no longer your prerogative. Which is why I fail to see the purpose of this tantrum."

"He is my prerogative," Damien mumbles under his breath, and then louder, "Does-- does Dad know?"

Hades regards him quizzically, in something of a condescending way, "I'm sure, although I haven't cared to ask. You aren't exactly discreet. Then again, your father isn't the most attentive creature."

"He's better than your controlling ass," Damien spits, standing up suddenly, violently, moving the table several inches and outright knocking over the chair he was sitting in. Hades doesn't so much as flinch, looking simply annoyed, disappointed as he sighs and hangs his head.

"My son," He says, evenly, refolding his hands while Damien pulls his knife from the wall, "My immortal soul has been around for as long as time itself. I have suffered so many disappointments, but my greatest is the knowledge that you are my legacy."

Damien is used to that narrative, from Hades, and yet the sentence still cuts deep, very deep, and he has no response for it, simply standing, his face flushing and his heart suddenly in his stomach, facing the wall with his knife in his hand, staring at the hole in the wall.

And he turns around suddenly, throwing the knife once again. Hades disappears, and this time he does not come back. Damien stares at his knife stuck in the chair, and not for the first time, he feels tears come to his eyes, and he angrily rubs them away.

 

 It was the first time, and it feels like a million years ago.

Damien passes the nervous boy his bottle of alcohol, and after he startles he takes it from him, stammering, " _I--Um, thank you_."

He holds it in his hands, blushing, and Damien stares at him.

"Well?"

" _Huh?_ "

"Are you going to drink it?"

" _Oh_ ," The shadow monster's face burns up, flushing, and he straightens his shoulders, " _Well, I-- I don't usually... I don't usually open my mouth in front of people._ "

"That's fucking stupid, drink it."

Big, bright white eyes stare back at him, anxious in a way that makes Damien feel off himself. The boy in front of him was void of color before he came to Hell in a handbasket with Damien, but now that he's here his clothes are washed out too, the yellow sweater that is too big for him hanging off his shoulders, now no shade of anything, just of a sort of melancholy. These parts of Hell, the dark and gloomy and silent parts with no color are mindnumbingly depressing, and they make Damien antsy, but the shadow monster doesn't seem keen on the fire and brimstone parts. And Damien is trying to get laid, after all.

" _Damien?_ " He asks. Yikes, he remembers his name. That's more than Damien can say for him. He turns his head slightly to look at him as he holds the glass bottle, still not drinking, "What?"

" _How come you still have your color?_ "

It's true. Not only does he have his color, but he's brighter here than he is on the surface, looking perfectly ethereal. Demons are just fallen angels, after all, and they're beautiful, more beautiful when in their element. Damien shrugs, agitated, "I'm a prince."

" _You're pretty_."

Woah, he's getting kind of bold. Damien looks at him again, eyes flickering over him. He seems to be calming down, or at least pretending to. He glances at Damien, and then places his fingers gingerly under his nose in a sort of cute, shy motion. And then his fucking face splits.

The cracking sound is horrible, and it makes Damien jump. His teeth are pointed and staggeringly white, and straight, the rows continuing for a while. The gooey shadow stitches his mouth at the edges, his tongue long and pitch. He throws the bottle back and drinks the rest of it, and then he looks at Damien after his mouth has stitched closed once again.

"...Holy fuck," Damien mumbles, and the boy's eyes crease a little, like he's smiling, without his mouth.

" _Yeah. It's pretty freaky_."

"It's fucking hot," Damien hisses, and pulls him close suddenly by his small waist. The boy squeals, dropping the bottle, flushing brightly with his hands pressed to Damien's chest. Damien leans on his motorcycle, and makes the internal decision that fucking this little horror right here on his motorcycle, on the streets of Hell, sounds like exactly what he wants to do.

"What's your name again?" Damien asks, his voice husky, and the boy shivers in his arms, pressing closer.

" _Oz_ ," He says, and he has the prettiest bedroom eyes, and if Damien didn't know any better he'd say the little thing was drunk already.

"Oz," Damien repeats, tracing along his waistband, "Pretty name. Pretty boy."

He says it partly because it's true, and partly because he wants to watch the cutie's face flush dark at his cheeks, which it does.

"Well, Oz," Damien coos, pulling him closer by his belt loops, "How do you feel about letting me fuck you? Sound like fun?"

" _Yes_ ," Oz whines, outright whines, and anyone with eyes could tell you this little twink is a bottom, but holy fuck is he a bottom, " _Ah-- right here?_ "

"Mhm. Unless you're very opposed to that," Damien mumbles, "I mean, I'd love to do it right here, but..."

" _No! Here is good,_ " Oz says quickly, pressing closer, bumping his nose to Damien's, " _I'm down for whatever._ "

Damien grins, nipping at the boy's nose, "Works for me, cutie. Wanna let me suck you off?"

Oz flushes, blinking, tucking his hair behind his ear in a sheepish way, " _Um, actually..._ "

"What?" Damien asks, a little annoyed, out of the loop. Oz carefully turns them around, so that his back is to the motorcycle and Damien stands in front of him. And then he unbuttons his pants, and pulls them away, as well as his briefs. He pulls his sweater up to reveal a little pussy there between his legs, and Damien loses his breath.

"Holy fuck," he says, like an idiot, and Oz tilts his head down, shyly.

" _I'd rather keep this, if that's okay? I'm a shapeshifter, so I can change if you want, but it feels better like this._ "

"No, yeah, that fucking rocks," Damien says, hands on his waist, and then he looks back up to meet his eyes, "Can-- Can i go down on you?"

" _I-if you want to?_ " Oz says sheepishly, and Damien drops to his knees. The boy leans back against the motorcycle, but not too much, until Damien places his hands on his legs and says, "It won't fall."

Then he relaxes a little, leaning back more, letting the demon prince nudge his legs apart. His pussy is really, really cute, and so small, and he looks so tight. He supposes none of this boy's beauty technically counts, since he's a shapeshifter, but then decides it really doesn't matter, because this boy is fucking gorgeous.

"C'mere," Damien mumbles, and when Oz shifts he dives into him, sucking his clit, running his tongue over his tiny entrance. The boy gasps, and then moans, throwing his head back.

" _Oh, fuck. D-Damien-_ -"

He tastes like pomegranates.

Damien has absolutely no doubts in his ability to fuck this boy in a way he will never forget and look good doing it, and bonus points for being in his own domain. But while pleasuring someone is very, extremely fun-- and it really is, as the boy whines and moans above him, hands in his hair-- so is actually getting pleasured, and Damien is more than a little unfaithful in the boy's ability to do that.

He's very, very clearly a virgin. The way he acts, the way he's losing his mind over getting head, the way he blushes everytime Damien says something vaguely sexual. It's weird that such an obvious virgin would be cool with hooking up with goddamned _Damien LaVey_ , of all people, and here, of all places, but Damien isn't complaining. Honestly, he isn't sure how this boy has never been fucked before, he's so pretty.

"How are you a virgin?" He says out loud, and Oz moans through another lick to his clit before casting a dizzy look down at Damien.

" _How-- what? I'm not a virgin._ "

"Bullshit."

" _I'm not, seriously,_ " Oz says, and for some reason Damien almost believes him, but only almost.

"Yeah right," He mumbles, and then drags his tongue along his little pussy, and it makes him gasp, then moan, throwing his head back. Damien grins, "Nobody likes sex this much unless they've never had it."

" _I'm just--_ " Oz gasps as Damien presses his fingers inside of him, shivering, " _I'm just sensitive._ "

"I'm sure."

" _I'm not a virgin,_ " Oz hisses, and Damien's heart jumps. Fuck yes, the cute shy thing is opening up. His bright eyes glow down at Damien, " _I'll prove it when we get to the best part._ "

"Oh, the best part?" Damien presses a kiss to his clit, and his eyes flicker, "Which part is that?"

" _The_ \--" Oz swallows a moan when Damien arches his fingers, " _The part where you put your cock in me_."

"Oh yeah? You're right, that is the best part," Damien comes up off the concrete, slips into the seat of the bike and pulls Oz up into his lap. The boy makes a small sound at the feeling of Damien's clothed erection pressed up to him, blushing, pressing his hands to his face. Damien holds his waist, carefully, so he doesn't lose his balance, "Wanna help me out?"

Oz blushes even darker, nodding as he reaches down to pull his zipper down, and then undo his button. He gasps as Damien's hard cock springs loose, demonically big, pierced through the head, already leaking precum. Oz's big eyes blow even bigger as he stares at the cock, his shoulders tensing. Damien chuckles, leaning forward and kissing his jaw, "What's wrong? You don't like it?"

" _It's..._ " Oz whispers, adjusting his legs as Damien presses his head to his entrance, not going inside yet, but flirting with the idea, " _It's so fucking big._ "

"Yeah, it is. Too big?" He smirks, squeezing his tiny waist, "...Can't handle it?"

" _I--I can handle it!_ " Oz's voice goes so high, and that's all Damien needs to hold his hips and pull him down onto his cock. The boy gasps, sharply, and then throws his head back, cries out, and just takes it. Damien is completely enamored with the sight of it. He decides fucking the little twink won't really require Oz to do anything, and his pussy feels so good that he completely forgets his previous concerns.

"Does that hurt?"

" _M-mhm_ ," Oz gasps, " _But I like it._ "

Damien grins at him when he is fully seated in Damien's lap, rocking his hips up a little just to watch him moan, "Listen, baby, I don't care if you're a virgin. It's kinda cute. You don't have to--"

Oz presses forward, his back arching, his arms wrapping around Damien's neck, pushing him back a little. The demon prince blinks, bewildered, his hands still holding the boy's hips, before they start moving, rhythmically, beautifully, riding Damien in this perfect way, and it's Damien's turn to moan, "Oh-- Fuck."

" _I'm not a virgin,_ " Oz's voice trembles as he moves, riding him in a sinfully flawless way, " _I'm extremely not a virgin._ "

"Mm-- yeah, baby, yeah. Mm, fuck, more of that."

 Oz finally just rides him, his hips moving in this absolutely delicious way that has Damien hissing, grabbing at his waist, sinking his claws in.

"Fuuuucking hell, where did you learn to do that?"

Oz's looks blissed out, fucked up, moving faster, the lights of his eyes flickering. He looks so incredibly delicate.

" _D-Damien,_ " Oz gasps, " _I can't-- I'm going to come--_ "

"Come, Ozzie," Damien coos, and the monster laughs, his voice shaking as he does, his little legs shaking as Damien shifts to put his feet on the ground, throwing those pretty legs over his shoulders.

" _O-ozzie?_ "

"Yeah, why not?" Damien grins, and then bites at his neck. Oz cries out, his back arching, and then he comes, hard, tightening around Damien, carrying him over to his own climax.

About an hour later, Oz is wrapped up in Damien's arms on the motorcycle, dizzy, hazy, content, and Damien is the same way. It's been a long time since he's enjoyed a hookup like that.

"Can I get your number?" Damien asks, lightly. Oz pulls away to look at him, surprised.

" _Really? Why?_ "

"Cause that was fun and you're hot as fuck?" Oz blushes at that, which is such a weird reaction to have when it comes to someone who just fucked you as hard as Damien fucked Oz, "And it would be pretty fucking metal if we could do this again?"

" _That would be really good_ ," Oz hums, " _Yeah, give me your phone._ "

 

"Boy."

Damien freezes, his heart jumping into his throat, and he turns around fast, definitely looking like a deer in headlights. Framed by the void, Satan is astoundingly bright, shining, murderously beautiful as all of them are. He towers, and Damien takes an instinctive step back, his hands on the straps of his backpack.

"Um-- Dad."

"Your father says you aren't to leave."

Damien scrunches his nose, annoyed, confused, "And... you're following through with that?"

Satan stares at him, towering still, until his gaze softens to a smirk, a rebel's grin, and he lowers to one knee in front of his son. Damien straightens, embarrassed, confused.

"No, I'm not following through with that," Satan says, "And yet I wonder how you pissed his Grace off so much."

"I--" Damien stammers, and then, "My, um... I had this... I had a friend--"

"Little Oz. Fear," Satan says, knowingly, and Damien looks at his feet, "I know."

Damien's heart swells in his chest, but he knows his dad, and he knows he isn't having this conversation, the first conversation in months, with Damien because he cares about his feelings or what he's going through. He's doing it because Hades disapproves, and therefore he must endorse it. It's spite. Everything he does is guided by malice and spite and selfishness. He is rebellious and free and the man who is supposed to be his lover spurns him at every chance he gets, and it never gets to him.

Satan has nothing to lose, because he cares about nothing. Damien wishes more than anything that he could be like that.

"I--" Damien says, and his voice breaks, "--It's stupid."

"It isn't."

"It's my fault. I-- I fucked up. A lot. And now he's gone."

It is so fucking absurd to talk about this to Satan of all people, but Damien's jar is broken, and he is his father's devastating legacy, and he has nothing left to lose, really.

"My son," Satan says, and a heavy hand falls on Damien's shoulder, "Never, ever let anyone determine your way. Nobody has that right but you, and only you. Love is for the dependent, and dependence is for the weak willed. You are not weak willed."

He is, though. His will is so fucking weak that he'd have already run to Oz incoherent and begging if he had any fucking clue where he was. Vera had refused to give him the addresses of Oz's friends, despite knowing them, saying he needed to heal, he needed to move on. He called her a bitch and tore her door off her hinges. He hasn't spoken to her in a few days.

"Damien LaVey," Satan says, and Damien is entranced by it, and he knows this delusion, has felt it a hundred times, "You are capable of the greatest, boldest things. You are my son, and you are _not_ to be kept in chains by anyone. Not by fear, and not by Lord Hades."

Damien's eyes flicker away, and Satan pulls back, regarding him.

"You will understand," He says, "When you realize that there is nobody deserving of your blind faith. And all faith is blind."

Satan is gone. Damien stands there in the wake of him, silent, and then the tears prick at his eyes again. This time there is no rubbing them away, and they come, and they keep coming, and Damien LaVey falls to his knees at the Gates of Hell, and he fucking cries.


	12. chapter twelve

The lights are bright as they always are, and the music is thumping, overwhelming, nauseating. Someone bumps into Liam's shoulder as he passes, and he grimaces, finding an empty spot at the bar to squeeze his eyes shut and rub at his temples. God, this is insufferable.

All he wants to do is go home, but Polly would never forgive him without an actual excuse. He rolls the sleeves of his button up to his elbows, unbuttoning the top button and untying the tie around his neck to let it hang loose. It does little to calm his agitation.

He jumps as someone crashes into the seat next to him, pulling his hand up away from the mess made when the glasses there spill over. He angles to look at exactly what's happening, and sees Amira Rashid with her hands carefully steadying Vicky Schmidt, who looks absolutely fucked up. Liam has seen a lot of drunk girls in his time, and after he gets over the initial shock, he simply moves to lean on the counter, watching the pair with mild curiosity.

" _Amiraaa_ \--" The Frankenstein's monster whines, weakly trying to squirm away, and Amira holds her shoulders.

"You're staying here," Amira tells her, firmly, maternal, and it reminds Liam of Vera, in a way, "We already lost Oz, we are _not_ losing any more sad rejectees."

"Rejectees?" Liam asks, bemused, and they both look up and notice him, seemingly for the first time. Vicky starts tearing up, clearly not for the first time from the way her mascara is run down her cheeks, her face flushed, everything about her wasted and disheveled. Amira sighs, and speaks quietly enough that Liam has to lean in to hear.

"Oz and Damien..."

"Oh, yes, that dramatic reveal," Liam hums, propping his chin up on his knuckles and quirking a brow, "Very unanticipated, for LaVey."

"It's a long story," Amira looks pissed, the fire in her hair flickering ever so slightly, and Liam's interest is officially piqued. The party just got tolerable.

"I have an eternity."

"I'll shorten it, because I don't. Basically-- they _aren't_ dating, and they _aren't_ on speaking terms. We came here with our group, and Oz promised it'd be fine, and he's gone."

Liam blinks, straightening, his eyes flickering about the crowd, "I haven't seen Damien. Do you think they're together?"

"They better not be," Amira growls, and it makes Liam like her a little more as she looks over her shoulder, "Brian's trying to find Oz, and I should too, but I really, extremely don't trust this one to not run off.

Vicky promptly starts crying again, an absolutely pitiful sight and sound, and Liam finds himself scooting his stool a little closer, his body reacting before his mind knows it, laying a sympathetic hand on her back before he looks up at Amira, "I could watch her."

"Really?" Amira's brow quirks up, her hands on her hips, "You want to babysit my drunk friend?"

"I don't have anything better to do," Liam rolls his eyes, "This party is the epitome of _gouge-my-eyes-out._ And besides-- I want to hear the drama."

Amira visibly considers that, almost looking about to argue, and then her shoulders slump, and she sighs. She jabs a finger at him, but she's already on her way back into the party when she says, "Don't upset her. And don't get any ideas. I'll cut your dick off."

Liam might take offense to the implication that he has any ulterior motives for this, but he's not total and utter scum of the Earth, so he understands. He turns his attention back to the crying girl, lightly shushing her, petting her hair. Vicky Schmidt is a relative stranger, so in literally any other situation this would be awkward as all hell, but something about these parties makes strange familiarity seem status quo.

"It's alright," He says softly, and asks the monster running the bar for water before turning back to her, "What happened, honey?"

"Nothing happened," She says through her tears, her arms splayed out on the bar in front of her, her cheek pressed to the wood. Her teary eyes look up pathetically at Liam, "I just-- I'm so incredibly _bad_ at romance and I-- I thought I really liked Scott but I think maybe I don't? And he definitely doesn't like me like that either? And I spent like a month on this dumb crush because I-- I'm really scared I'm going to be a-a-alone--"

She bursts into inconsolable tears, her face in her hands, and Liam winces. This girl is _drunk_. He thanks the monster who passes him a cup of water, gently placing it in front of Vicky before propping his chin up on his hand again, "Honestly, Victoria, I don't think you two would have been a good match."

"What?" The girl's voice shakes as she peeks up, "Why not?"

"Mm. I don't know. Missing a sort of... je ne sais quois. And if you don't think you like him..."

"I don't," She admits, hiding her face again, "That's the problem. I wanted to like him."

"Loneliness is a helluva drug, my dear," Liam tells her, nudging the water towards her in a way that makes her relent, drinking it in a slow, dejected way, "But you aren't alone. Your friends are, frankly, stellar. You're a charming girl, from what I've seen of you."

"You don't even know me," She mumbles, and he shrugs.

"I've been here a long time. I've become an excellent judge of character."

"I want a boyfriend."

"Like I said. Loneliness. And yet, you'll find someone, if you keep your head up, if you don't let it turn you desperate, if you don't let it lower your standards. Too often people find themselves in relationships with people they don't want because they just wanted _someone_. You deserve to be swept off your feet."

Vicky looks away, still looking on the verge of tears, but at least she's stopped bawling. Her gaze flickers back to Liam, and for the first time, she offers a little smile, saying in a soft, sort of teasing tone, "You're such a gentleman."

It makes Liam roll his eyes, but his cheeks flush. She drinks the rest of the water and then sets the cup down, still clearly so drunk.

"We lost Oz."

"I know."

"He's really, really heartbroken," She continues, her voice soft, "And I'm... worried he's going to do something not smart."

"Not smart," Liam repeats, and she nods, huffing a little sigh, her curls falling into her face, and Liam reaches forward and gently pushes them back behind her ear.

"That thing you said?" Vicky says, "About loneliness being a helluva drug?"

"Yes?"

"Oz is really, really not good with loneliness," She says quietly, "He doesn't-- he doesn't really let people close, and Damien is the only one he's ever-- And now-- I'm so worried."

"What are you so worried about?"

"I'm scared he's going to do something really stupid because he's so sad. Like-- I don't know. Damien really hurt him. I'm scared he's going to love him so much he's going to keep putting himself in a position where he'll get hurt."

"I..." Liam sighs, trying to fit his thoughts together, trying to string them up into words, "Victoria, that's an extremely valid train of thought. And yet I'm not so sure Damien had or _has_ malicious intent. I know him, and there's just... Something so different about how he's been in the time he's been with Oz. Like it was something I couldn't trace the source of, but now that I know it makes so much sense."

"He still hurt him."

"Yes, he did, and he's a dick for it. And yet I'm not altogether convinced that he wouldn't go to hell and back to fix it."

Vicky's gaze slides away, and her shoulders slump, "...He's going to have to do better than that. He... He broke Oz's trust. That's, like, the biggest deal ever for Oz. It takes a lot for him to trust."

Liam doesn't have anything to say to that, and he finds his eyes sliding away.

He would bet his immortal soul that Damien and Oz are together, either fighting or having angry sex or crying on each other. Mending the rift or tearing it wider. Damien is not one for radio silence. It isn't in his nature. He would never just leave Oz be, avoid him and start fires by himself.

Damien doesn't work like that.

Liam jumps as a red fist slams into the wood beside him, and when he looks up he's surprised to see Damien Lavey, firey, looking like the spirit of rage itself, and... crying? His entire frame shaking, he screams something at the bartender, something about a curse cure, and the bartender quickly hands over a glass, babbling fearfully, and Damien downs it without a second thought.

"It-- It doesn't cure curses--"

"THEN WHY THE _FUCK_ DID YOU GIVE IT TO ME?"

"It cures the lingering symptoms! Curses have to be broken by the caster!"

Damien's fist slams back down into the table, but after that, almost instantly, he crumples, his head falling down against the table. Liam stares, completely shocked, confused, processing, and Vicky seems to be the exact same way. Except she's hiding a little, her face in Liam's shoulder, her small hands gripping his waist. He looks over his shoulder at her for a touch of reassurance, and then leans a little closer to Damien.

"Damien?"

"Fuck off," The demon hisses, but there is no heat behind it, his voice breaking in the middle. Liam lays his hand gingerly on his shoulder, and when he isn't bombarded with fire he presses a little closer, tilting his head. The drama tonight. It's exquisite.

"What happened?" He asks, "Why do you need a curse cure?"

"Oz cursed me," He says pathetically, and Liam throws a questioning glance at Vicky, who squeaks, holding her hands up defensively, speaking in whispers, "Not a _curse_ curse! Just... a really intense phobia of Oz himself. Something to keep him away."

Liam quirks a brow, "How is he supposed to mend fences with a phobia of doing so?"

"Ex- _fucking_ -actly," Damien finally lifts his head, glaring daggers at both of them indiscriminately, tears smudged down his cheeks, his eyes red, "This is the first time I've seen him in like, two fucking weeks. I just haven't known where the fuck he is. I was freaking the _hell_ out about it. But come to find out even if I had fucking known where he was, it wouldn't have mattered. I-- I feel like I'm living a fucking _nightmare_ just at the sight of him, and it's like-- It overlapped my actual feelings, like a filter, and-- I tried to fucking power through it but I got like, ten feet away from him and had a total fucking mental break. I-- I--" His voice breaks, and he dissolves into tears. It's an insane sight. Damn, these parties.

"He doesn't want to talk to you, Damien," Vicky boldy chimes in, and Liam winces.

"Victoria," He chides, gently, "Please. He's had enough."

"No, fuck you, let her talk--" Damien growls, tears still running down his face, claws gripping at the wooden bar, "--Let her tell me how I'm such an irredeemable _dick_. How I'm a hotheaded freak and Oz hates me for it."

"Damien, honestly..."

"I have one fucking question. If Oz hates douchebags so much, what the _hell_ is he doing draped all over a fucking Wolfpack jock?"

Oh, these parties.

Vicky looks genuinely surprised, her shoulders straightening, her face still so flushed from the alcohol, "I-- He's... he's _what_? Is that where he went?"

"You think he'd run off with a fling?" Liam hums, "That sounds rather uncharacteristic."

"Not exactly. I mean-- Dames started as a fling."

"Fuck you, I'm right here."

Vicky winces, and then her gaze flickers away before she continues, "I mean... I guess it could happen? I just-- wow, we were right about that whole loneliness drug thing..."

"Drug?" Damien looks alarmed, and Liam spreads his hands in a reassuring gesture, "Relax. Not an actual drug. It's a metaphor."

Damien quirks a brow, wiping tears away with suspiciously cut-up knuckles. Vicky nods, "We were just... wrong about the color."

"The color. I like that."

"He's doing exactly what you said. Just being so hurt you find _someone_."

Damien's eyes flicker between the two of them, and then he mumbles, "Damn, you two are made for each other."

Even as Liam stiffens himself, he feels Vicky do the same beside him, and she squeals, shaking her head, "We're-- we're not a thing."

"Oh," Damien looks a sort of pissed off version of confused, which is Damien's only version of confused, "Okay. Whatever."

Liam's face heats up as he clears his throat. Goddamn, these parties.

"Whatever," Damien repeats, standing, "I'm fucking leaving. I still feel like I'm going to fucking scream my throat bloody. Catch you later."

Liam nods at him as he passes, and Vicky is leaning heavily on him. He hesitates, then, "Um... do you want to crash at my place?"


	13. chapter thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this ones a little short!!! next one will be longer, promise, im just trying VERY HARD to break my writer's block

"Oz, is this the best plan?"

" _What do you mean?_ " He turns his head slightly in favor of Brian, whose face is hard to read with how little it changes, but the concern is clear in his eyes.

"You're in the middle of a really, really bad breakup. Like, a week out from losing a super treasured relationship. Is a party seriously the best idea?"

"Briaaaan," Vicky moans, leaning over to rest her head on his shoulder. He turns his head to look at her as she pouts, "Get out of here with your rationality. It's going to be _fun_."

" _No, no, I appreciate the concern,_ " Oz says kindly, tilting his head in a motion resembling a smile, " _Seriously. But I-- I plan on having fun. I'm going to lose my mind if I spend any more time crying on your couch._ "

"That's... Good to hear," Brian admits, "I hate seeing you sad, but bottling it up won't do any good. I'm just making sure--"

"Brian!" Vicky squeals, her legs kicking a little as she sits up to hold his shoulders. He looks at her quizzically.

"We are going to have so much fun. All four of us will be there, and you're not drinking so Oz will have a ride home if something happens or he just wants to leave--"

" _Vicky, I can teleport_."

"Oh, like hell we're letting you go by yourself," Brian argues, and Oz takes a breath to answer, but then lets it out, turning back to the mirror. The door opens, and all of them turn to look, and Amira steps in, a hand on her hip. Time to go.

 

In hindsight, it was probably a super terrible idea, and that is absolutely reflected in the position Oz has found himself in. It's kind of cold outside, and he pulls his knees up to his chest, and it smells like fast food as the werewolf sitting beside him on the hood of his trashy car munches away at the food in his hands. How long was he at the party? Like, an hour at the most? How did he make such a questionable decision so damn quickly?

He looks over when the wolf-jock moves in his peripheral, and it takes him a moment to process that he's being offered some of the food.

" _Oh, ah-- no thank you._ "

"C'mon," He says, and his voice is low and rumbling and rough. _Husky_ is a good descriptor, as he takes another bite and says around the mouthful, "It's good."

" _Mm, I don't... really open my mouth around people, usually,_ " Oz admits, and then considers, and adds, " _I'm not hungry. Thank you._ "

"Suit yourself," He says, and Oz watches him eat for a minute before he turns away with a little crinkle of his nose, gaze turning up to the night sky.

He couldn't have been at the party for more than an hour. He had been leaned up against the counter, the marble pressing into the small of his back, eyes big and nervous and darting around the crowd. He'd been thinking that maybe coming was a mistake after all, and fuck, this was Polly's party, and Damien was probably going to be here, and he should leave _now_ , right now-- and then someone had knocked into him, and he'd squealed in a way that got lost in the pounding music all around them, and he'd fallen into strong arms, spilling his drink on a light colored shirt underneath a red letterman.

"Fuck--"

" _Ah, I'm so sorry--_ "

He'd met his eyes, and just sort of... stared. A wolfpack jock. The literal pinnacle of douchiness. His long hair all disheveled, an utterly adorable look of simple surprise on his face before he grinned, said without a note of malice in his rough voice, "You're lucky you're cute. Guess you have to hang with me to make up for it."

Oz hadn't really been planning on getting a rebound, but if he was going to have one, who better than a textbook fuckboy? He'd literally fallen into his arms, after all. It seemed unfair not to let the guy hit on him, especially since he was actually kind of hot and he had nothing better to do. He was an absolute dumbass for the maybe half hour they spent together at the party, as Oz expected.

What Oz didn't expect was to find it sort of charming.

"I didn't catch your name," He'd said while Oz tried to dry his shirt. When the fear monster looked up at him, quizzical, he had this cocky grin on his face, a little tilt of his head that tousled some of the brown hair that came to his shoulders. He'd felt his face heat up a little before he rolled his eyes, returning to his task, " _Yeah, I didn't throw it._ "

"Come ooon. Tell me yours and I'll tell you mine."

" _You have a name?_ " Oz teased, lightly, finally stepping back to cross his arms, looking up at him. God, he was so tall, " _I really always thought of the wolfpack as like, one nameless entity_."

"It's Kurt," He offered, grinning a toothy grin, before he jabbed a thumb at the number on the back of his letterman jacket-- _nine--_  his voice raising with excitement as he says, "But everyone calls me _K-9!_ "

And oh, god, that's so stupid.

Oz had found his cheeks heating up, just staring up at this dumb jock, and had eventually found the strength to stammer, " _O-okay._ " He'd managed to leave with him maybe five minutes later.

Oz is pulled from his thoughts by a hand on his thigh, and when he looks over he's pulled close by his waist and he gasps sort of softly, letting his eyes flutter shut. He'd been wondering when the actual hooking-up part of this hook-up was going to happen, and now he guesses he has his answer. When K-9 starts to kiss at his neck he's certain for a moment that he's going to absolutely melt, grasping at the collar of his letterman, shivering at the warmth of his tongue and the graze of his teeth.

" _A-ah-- Kurt--_ "

"You're really fucking pretty," He mumbles, and it makes Oz flush, "What do you wanna do?"

" _Fuck_ ," He says, bluntly, honestly, " _Like a lot. You can spend the night, if you want..._ "

"Sounds like a good time," The werewolf laughs, his hands finding the fear monster's waistband. His touch lingers there, and wavers, and Oz squirms a little under the touch, wanting him to continue. He doesn't, and Oz stands there anticipating before he finally braces his hands on the wolf's shoulders and says, " _What?_ "

"I, uh," Kurt starts, "...Know there was... Something going on with LaVey?"

Oz closes his eyes, fingers curling in K-9's collar, and the jock straightens, pulling him closer by his hips, "You don't have to tell me anything! If you don't want. I just-- uh, want to make sure you really do want to do this."

" _I do._ "

"Just, I'm okay with being a rebound, if that's what this is, I just think you're hot as fuck and--"

" _Kurt_."

K-9 trails off, and when he meets Oz's eyes again he looks sort of vulnerable. Oz sighs, soft, carding a shadowy hand through his brown hair.

He thought he'd be more... wolf-like. Taking what he wants. But leaned up against the hood of his car with Oz pressed up to him, his hands gingerly on the boy's waist, he's an absolute puppy. It's sort of endearing. It's exactly what Oz needs.

And hearing that he's okay with being a rebound... well, damn, Oz isn't proud of it, but that is what he is. So... yeah, it's comforting.

" _I'll... I'll tell you later, if you really want to know. In the morning, maybe,_ " Oz finally says. The jock perks up at that little promise, and Oz tilts his head in a pseudo-smile at him, " _For now-- yes, I'm sure I want to do this."_

Kurt simply stares up at him a little longer, sort of dreamily, before Oz prompts him gently, _"So... can we?_ "

"Um-- yeah! Yeah, yes, sorry--" The wolf's hands move back down to Oz's waistband, unbuttoning him, and the fear monster laughs, flushed, feeling better and better by the moment.


End file.
